


Do Airships Dream Of Electric Sheep?

by Angel Ascending (angel_in_ink)



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety Attacks, Bonding Over Engineering, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Not Quite Enemies to Lovers?, Other, Possession, Sleep Paralysis, Spoilers through Episode 171, Survivor Guilt, Telepathic Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26938567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_in_ink/pseuds/Angel%20Ascending
Summary: Many things changed when the airship known as the Vengeance went through the aurora borealis. Some things were obvious. Others however, were not.
Relationships: Amelia Earhart/Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom, Azu & Celiquilliton "Cel" Sidebottom, Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom & Vengeance, Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom & Zolf Smith, Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan & Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom
Comments: 22
Kudos: 23





	1. Nightmares And Accusations

**Author's Note:**

> "What if the Vengeance had bad dreams?" That's the thought that started this fic. 24k later, here we are. 
> 
> Technically this diverges from canon after episode 168 (which is when I started writing this, a whole month ago), but there are a few canon things from later episodes sprinkled in, such as the bar on the ship.
> 
> Yes, the title is a play on "Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep?" by Phillip K. Dick, because I liked the sound of it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamid thinks of old enemies, Cel has a nightmare, the engines have a bit of a scream, Zolf cares, Earhart makes some unjust accusations and Azu gives some good advice.

“Cel? Everything all right?”

Cel looks up from their sketches and notebooks and then down to see Hamid standing next to them at what is colloquially known as the ‘dining room table,’ not that the room or the table is big enough to seat everyone even if they all decided to take a meal together. There’s even less room than usual with Cel’s work all spread out that way it is. “Hey, little buddy!” For Hamid _is_ himself again, no longer in Azu’s body. It had taken several curse removal spells from Hamid and Zolf and Azu, but everyone had gone back to being where they should be with only a minimum of fuss. “I’m fine! Why do you ask? Oh! Have a seat! I’ll just…” They start moving bits of wire and scrap metal out of the way.

Hamid sits and gives Cel a tentative smile. “It’s just that you’ve been muttering at your work and poking your tankard for several minutes, so I thought maybe whatever it was you were working on wasn’t going very well.”

“I was?” Cel frowns slightly and picks up the freshly polished tankard, regarding it for a moment before taking a sip from it. It’s grog, even though they might have preferred tea. They had promised the tankard they’d drink grog from it, and just because it might not be animate anymore, that was no reason to break a promise. “No, the work’s going fine.” They slide a sketch over in Hamid’s direction. “I was thinking of putting in some sort of electric communication system, at least going from the helm to the room with the cage, maybe a few other places if I have enough materials. We have so much lightning from the elementals after all, we could be running all sorts of things! Don’t know why I didn’t think of putting something like this in _before_ , honestly.”

“Maybe because you were rebuilding half a ship and three new engines, not to mention all the control systems in what, less than a week? Even with help, that’s a lot, Cel. You don’t _have_ to think of everything.”

“Still,” Cel says. “It would have been useful. I mean, I got a note to Zolf _anyway_ , thanks to all the little cargo buddies, but something like this would get the job done a lot faster if we had to use the cage again.” _For all the good it did_ , Cel thinks but does not say. Hamid had helped Cel build the cage after all, and they don’t want him to feel badly about it. Cel only blames themself for what happened, and is thankful that the magical body switching hadn’t been permanent. Besides, they have no evidence that the cage didn’t prevent something _worse_ from happening. That would require further testing, and as much as Cel loves experiments, they’re not eager to have to deal with another large wild magic concentration anytime soon. They prod pensively at the tankard and when it doesn’t respond they pick it up and take another sip of grog.

“Waiting for it to come alive again?” Hamid asks, smiling.

“Doesn’t hurt to check,” Cel says. “I wish you could have met the little cargo buddies. They were… sweet, in their way. Even though they couldn’t talk, you could tell they just wanted to be useful and maybe… cheer me up? That could just be me projecting though, I mean, there’s only so much body language something like a tankard or a keg can _have_ , I might have been interpreting that all wrong.”

Hamid shakes his head. “Cel, you’re one of the most intuitive people I’ve ever met, next to Azu, and I’m inclined to think you’re right.” He gives Cel’s tankard an affectionate little pat. “I’m sure they’d agree with me if they could speak.”

“Awww, thank you!” Cel says, storing the compliment away for later. “About the speaking thing, well, that’s maybe a side reason I thought of an intercom system for the ship. I’m not _sure_ if it’d work the way I think it would, but in theory, if I build an intercom _into_ the ship, then maybe the ship could use it to talk to _us_ if it came alive again, which is, well, I don’t know if it’d be useful exactly, but it’d be _interesting,_ wouldn’t it, Hamid?”

Hamid doesn’t respond right away, and when Cel looks over they see his hands have gone halfway to claws while his face has gone a little sharper, his eyes glittering dark and distant. “Hamid? Little buddy? What is it?”

Hamid blinks, awareness coming back into this eyes from wherever it had gone. “Oh,” he says quietly, looking down at his hands. The claws soften back into well manicured nails. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Cel says gently. “Was it something I said?”

“Just… the idea of a bodiless intelligence talking to us through a speaker.” Hamid chuckles weakly, rubbing at the scales on his neck. “Seems to be a theme, doesn’t it?”

Cel thinks of Shoin first, then to the story Hamid and Zolf had told them, about Mr. Ceiling, about rows and rows of brains in glass tubes, a terrible misuse of power and intelligence that had made the world run smoothly at the cost of so many imprisoned minds. “I’m sorry, Hamid. I didn’t mean to remind you of that.”

“It’s not the same,” Hamid says. “I know it isn’t.” He gives Cel a trembling smile. “No actual brains involved.”

“Exactly!” Cel says quickly, determined to reassure Hamid. “I’m not sure where a ship’s ‘mind’ would reside if it was a physical thing… maybe the helm, but I _know_ the ship doesn’t have any secret brain chambers. And even if it _did_ , the only brain I’d put in there is my own, since it’s the only brain it would be ethical to use, not that I have the time or the tools for that sort of thing at the moment, and honestly taking my brain out and putting it elsewhere has lost a little bit of its appeal since Shoin, even if it would be fascinating to be a part of the ship and none of this is helpful, is it?“ They reach out to gather up their things, (notebooks full of projects, so many projects) hands trembling. It’s amazing that with how fast their thoughts are, their mouth still manages to outstrip things like good sense.

Hamid reaches out and puts his hand gently on Cel’s own. “Cel, it’s all right. Really.” This time the smile he gives them is a firmer one. “ _Your_ brain I trust, though I think I’d rather it stay in your head.”

Cel's breath leaves them in a shaky sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

“Would you like a hug?”

“Oh yes, _please._ ”

Hamid’s hug is warm and genuine and goes a long way to making Cel feel better, even as they turn the conversation over restlessly in their head hours later. They try not to focus obsessively on the part where they might have made Hamid feel bad (It was all right, he had said it was all right, he was all right) by turning their thoughts towards what it might feel like to share the ship’s consciousness, if during the borealis it even _had_ something like a consciousness that would make any sense to an outsider. Such thought experiments usually either keep them awake or relax them enough to fall asleep, and Cel is relieved when they feel themself start drifting off.

———

_The ship soars through the sky as easily as the birds that occasionally fly past, the ship’s twin hearts of air elementals keeping them aloft, the engines propelling them along as the wind fills their sails. Their cargo sits snuggly in the hold, on deck the crew fulfills their duties, and best of all their Captain is at the helm, her hands on the wheel steady and sure. She is smiling, the wind fluttering the vibrant feathers on her hat. The ship loves many things, flight and the sky and their crew, but oh, it loves their Captain most of all, has ever since the moment they had Awoken, since awareness and knowledge and self had come to them._

_The ship still remembers those first moments, feeling confusion and fear for the first time, being overwhelmed by sensations, rain on their deck and wind snapping at their sails and tugging on their ropes, the shouting of the crew as they worked to secure the rigging. And through it all, the Captain’s hands had been on their wheel, fighting to hold them steady._

_“Easy girl,” the Captain had said. The ship had known she was the Captain the same way it had known that the others were crew, that rain was wet and cold and wind was what was blowing all around them. “We’ve gotten through worse than this on the outskirts of the Waste, you and me. We’re going to get everyone through this too.”_

_That was the first time the ship experienced love._

_“Just one last run,” their Captain is saying now, years from the night of rain and awakening. “One last run. They say we shouldn’t, but we know better, don’t we? We can do this.”_

_The ship isn’t sure what their Captain is talking about, but they can’t help but agree. Together they can do anything._

_“Captain!!” The Lookout’s voice rings out over the wind, as sharp as the alarm bell. The ship wrenches their awareness away from their Captain and up into the crow’s nest just in time to see something they have only seen once before from afar, an enormous creature whose gold scales glitter in the sun. A dragon, the ship has heard it called. A Meritocrat, their Captain has called it as well, disdain and disgust in her voice. The ship does not want it here, whatever it’s called, doesn’t want it coming so fast, so close that they can see that the shine of its scales is marred by dull blue veins like fungus, like mold, so close that they can count its teeth as it opens its mouth…_

_The ship has experienced fire before, briefly. A knocked over lantern. An overheated engine. A lightning strike. This isn’t even close. This is cataclysm. This is the crew screaming. This is parts of the ship burning, falling away. The ship does not know pain the way that their Crew and their Captain know it, but they know panic, know fear as the sails catch fire, as the engines smoke and whine and scream._

_Their Captain is already guiding the ship downward when the starboard engine explodes. There is still some of the crew alive left to scream, and the ship would scream with them if it could. They feel the fire destroying more parts of themself and they are helpless to stop it as the port side engine blows, taking out part of the deck with it. They feel their Captain’s grip on the wheel tighten as her blood falls onto the deck, shrapnel piercing her side._

_“C’mon,” their Captain whispers, her voice tight with pain, tears streaming down her face. “C’mon, you can do it.”_

_The ship tries for her, they do, tries for as long as they can, but then the fire reaches the center of them and breaks their heart. As the magic of air and flight leave them, as they begin to fall, as the hated earth below them rushes up too fast to meet them, the ship’s only thought is for their Captain, still clinging tightly to their wheel._

———

Cel wakes to the sound of a ringing bell, to the shaking of the ship, of screaming of metal and shouting of people, and for a moment they think that what they had been hearing and feeling in their nightmare followed them into the waking world, a trick of the mind. But the sounds don’t fade when Cel sits up in their hammock, nor when their feet hit the floor as they rush to put on clothes, stumbling and clumsy from the sudden shock of waking up, head pounding fiercely. They rub at their eyes as they head for the door and realize that they had been crying. How long has it been since they’ve woken up from a nightmare crying? It could have been longer, the timing is frankly awful.

“What’s going on?” Cel shouts as they open the door, and nearly trips over Sassraa, who Cel realizes must have been coming to fetch them and had probably been pounding on the door, unheard. “Sassraa, I’m sorry, what—?”

“The engines seized!” Sassraa shouts over the noise and they start running down the corridor, trusting Cel to follow them. “All three of them, all at once!”

That’s where the screaming and shaking is coming from, Cel realizes. All that metal straining to move. “We need to shut off the power to them!”

“We _tried_!” Sassraa growls. “None of the individual shut-offs are working, and the main lever is frozen!”

Cel swears in a mixture of languages. The engines will overheat next, and that means fire and worse.

Meerk’s practically hanging off the main shut-off lever when Cel and Sassraa come upon them, Draal claw deep in the lever’s housing, trying to locate the problem. There shouldn’t even _be_ a problem, routine maintenance of all the safety features is literally the first thing done when they get on shift every morning and if there had been even the slightest catch in any of the levers and switches it would have been investigated and taken care of immediately.

 _I’ve gone from one nightmare to the next_ , Cel thinks as they put their hands on the lever. “Draal, take your claws out for a minute. Maybe if we try wiggling it—“

The lever suddenly slams down as if it had been oiled, Meerk letting out a surprised squeak of a growl. The screaming of the engines cuts off, the echoes of it leaving Cel’s ears ringing as they look down at the lever in surprise.

Cel takes a deep breath and it leaves them in a shaky sigh. “Right, okay, good.” They give the lever a trembling little pat. “Now we just need to figure out everything else. Draal, check over that lever, make sure we didn’t just break something. Sassraa, let’s start at the starboard engine and work our way around. Meerk, if you can run up on deck and tell everyone the situation is, well, not fine, not great, but being handled. Where’s everyone else?”

“Natun and Tadyka are at the port engine, I left Driaak at the stern to come get you,” Sassraa tells them.

Cel wonders just how long the alarm had been sounding before they had woken up, but that’s a question for later. Figuring out what’s wrong with the ship is the most important thing right now. With any luck, they won’t be all night about it.

———

From the light coming in through the porthole, Cel is sure the sun is way past risen by the time they stumble back inside their room, shutting the door before leaning on it with a muffled groan. They had checked and double checked all the engines, triple checked all the emergency shut-off switches and panic levers. _Earhart_ had come down at one point and had done her own checks, asking pointed questions when she hadn’t been just mumbling under her breath. Cel is ready for a quick wash or breakfast or a _nap._ What they are _not_ ready for is someone knocking on their door.

“ _What_.” The word comes out short and sharp, and Cel rubs at their face wearily before opening the door, already apologizing. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just been a long night. Morning. Whatever time it is.”

“I’m sorry too.” Zolf looks up at them from the threshold. “Earhart wants a word with you.”

Cel blinks at Zolf for what feels like a full minute. “She’s literally been five feet away from me for the past two hours and she wants a word with me _now_?”

“Seems that way,” Zolf says. “She wouldn’t tell me what it was about either, just that she wanted to see you right away.”

The _one_ time Earhart wasn’t using Zolf’s first mate status to act as a go-between. Cel rubs at the bridge of their nose and sighs. They’re being unkind and they know it. Their only excuse for it is that vivid nightmare and then the stress of waking up to what could have been a disaster and that’s no excuse at all, not really. “Okay. Sure. Fine.” They step through the door, close it behind them.

“Are you all right?” Zolf asks, and Cel must have given him a look without realizing it because he gives a little huff into his beard. “Yeah, fair. I can help with being tired if you’d like.”

Cel almost automatically deflects the offer, then reconsiders. Whatever conversation Earhart wants to have with them, it’s not going to be made any easier by how exhausted and snappish they feel. “Please?”

“ ‘Course,” Zolf says, reaching up and touching them on the arm.

Cel feels their exhaustion lift from their mind like mist burning off under the morning sun, their hours old headache retreating into something more ignorable as a bonus. They don’t feel _chipper_ , but at least they won’t have to be worried they’re going to fall asleep on their feet in front of Earhart. “Thank you. That _really_ comes in handy, doesn’t it?”

“Best thing next to actual sleep,” Zolf says. “Which is something I should be doing myself. There’s breakfast keepin’ warm in the oven for you, and plenty of water in the washroom, conjured fresh.” He pats Cel on the arm and this time there’s no magic behind it except the simple one of caring.

“Thank you,” Cel says again, though the words feel entirely inadequate. “I hope you sleep well.”

“Same for you.” Zolf says. “Don’t go using my magic as an excuse not to catch up.”Then he’s walking away, and Cel can’t put off seeing Earhart any longer.

Cel’s knock at Earhart’s door is answered quickly enough, but then Cel is left to stand in the small room as Earhart continues reading what Cel realizes is the maintenance log book that Cel and the kobolds use to keep track of what’s done on the ship, mostly involving the engines, Cel transcribing the kobold’s Draconic (a runic, beautiful form of the language) into English so that everyone can read it if they need to, just like Earhart is doing now. Cel waits, then keeps waiting as Earhart turns another page. Right. Okay. It’s going to be like this, then.

“You wanted to see me… Captain?”

“Hmmmm. Yes.” Earhart finally looks up from the book and gazes steadily at Cel for a long moment. Cel readies themself to give a report on what they think might have gone wrong with the engines, how there hadn’t seemed to have been a mechanical reason for what happened, or an obviously magical one. There had been some minor repairs needed to the engines themselves, but the damage had looked to be _caused_ by the engines seizing up, as opposed to being the cause of the problem. The short answer is that Cel doesn’t know, and the long answer is that Cel doesn’t know and is hoping it was just a stray bit of wild magic that caused the problem and that the issue isn’t going to repeat itself.

“You were…. inexcusably late responding to the problem last night. Explain yourself.”

Cel blinks, their train of thought completely crashing, leaving them to try and pick a response out of the fragments. How had Earhart known? She hadn’t come down below decks until well after Cel and the kobolds had been checking and rechecking the engines. Except… except Cel _had_ asked Sassraa just how long the alarm had been going off for before Sassraa had gone pounding on Cel’s door, and Cel and Sassraa _had_ been having the conversation in English, because Sassraa was working on the language and Cel had wanted to encourage them. Earhart must have overheard them.

Sassraa’s answer had made Cel uneasy. There had been time enough for all the kobolds to wake up, to realize what was happening, try the main switch and then all the individual shut-offs, realize that Cel wasn’t anywhere around, then for Sassraa to come pounding on Cel’s door for what the kobold had described as much too long. Cel themself agrees it had taken too long to respond to the alarm, but they don’t know the why of it, and Earhart’s tone, or lack of tone, is quickly getting under their skin.

“I was asleep,” Cel says. “I’m not usually a deep sleeper, far from it quite honestly, so I’m not sure why—“

“Over-indulging between shifts?” Earhart asks mildly.

“ _What?_ ” The word is high and shrill with disbelief. “Of course not! I don’t drink too close to the start of my shifts, and the alcohol content of grog is highly questionable to begin with!” Not that there aren’t ways to improve that, but that isn’t here or there at the moment.

“Oh I don’t mean _that,_ ” Earhart says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’ve met an alchemist or two in my time, they always have more… interesting concoctions at their disposal.”

Cel entertains themself in a brief moment of fantasy while they take a deep breath and count to ten, said fantasy involving the potion of vomit swarm on their belt. The thought of vomiting spiders on Earhart doesn’t make them feel any better, doesn’t stop the hot flush of emotion they can feel creeping up their neck.

“The continued performance of the ship and the safety of everyone on board is very important to me,” Cel says, working to keep anger out of their tone and off of their face with no idea if they’re succeeding. “So no. I was not, am not, and will not be _indulging_ in anything that would prevent me from doing my job. _Captain._ ”

Earhart continues to look at Cel in silence after they’ve finished speaking and Cel wonders if they’re imagining a spark of satisfaction in her eyes.

“Good to hear,” Earhart finally says, expression unchanging. “That will be all.”

Cel does _not_ slam the door on their way out, but it’s a near thing as they leave, anger making their footsteps echo heavily down the corridor.

“How dare she suggest—! As if I would—!” Tears prick and sting at the corner of Cel’s eyes for the second time since they’ve woken up and they swipe at them with one hand as they walk towards the washroom. As much as Cel would like to just storm back to their room and not talk to _anyone_ until they’re on shift again, they know washing up and having something to eat is the wiser course of action at the moment. _Then_ perhaps the storming back to their room for some sleep. Cel can’t control how Earhart thinks of them, or at least won’t be able to change her mind about them, not today, but Cel _can_ control how they deal with their anger.

Underneath Cel’s feet the engines hum, smooth and soothing.

———

Two thirds of something is better than nothing at all, at least in some cases, when the missing third is at least replaced with something enjoyable. Cel had eaten the breakfast Zolf had saved for them after washing up, (it wouldn’t have been the first time Cel had eaten before a proper wash if they had done it the other way round, but engine grease makes a poor flavoring for most food) but sleep had evaded them utterly. _That_ had been a problem Cel was used to at least, though they hadn’t been sure if it was the remains of Zolf’s magic or their own thoughts that had made sleep impossible, and there had been no way they were going to turn to any of their usual remedies for sleeplessness, especially after Earhart’s earlier accusations. So Cel had grabbed their coat and headed up on deck for a bit of fresh air and sunlight instead, only to run into Azu, who had been on her way to the crow’s nest for her shift as lookout. And, well, they had gotten to talking….

“Thank you for letting me vent,” Cel says, running a hand through their hair as they lean back against the edge of the crow’s nest. “It’s just so _frustrating_ , you know? I thought maybe when we first met that we’d be… okay, not best friends, but we’d get _along_. When we were working on rebuilding the ship together there were even times when she’d be nearly _friendly._ Then she goes and tests the ship almost to destruction when we set off and I suggest that _maybe_ we don’t want to die a pointless death before we even start and suddenly _I’m_ the one who can’t be trusted.”

“She’s completely out of line,” Azu agrees, looking away from the sky for a moment. “Would you like some advice, or is this more of a sympathetic noises sort of a vent?”

“Does either option come with a hug?”

“All options come with hugs,” Azu says, opening up her arms.

Cel is gratefully engulfed, closing their eyes and losing themself in Azu’s soothing hum. “Both, please,” they mumble into the softness of Azu’s coat.

“Do you _want_ to be friends with Earhart?” Azu asks, loosening her grip ever so slightly. Cel arranges themself so they’re both looking at the sky now, clear with no threats in sight. “It’s fine if you do.”

Cel sighs. “I _like_ making friends, but at this point I’d settle for her not seeing me as… as a threat? She told Zolf she thinks I’m going to lead—“ Cel lowers their voice just in case, the wind carries sound down to the deck sometimes “—a mutiny. Which is terribly ironic, all things considered, seeing as who she said it to. I mean, if I— if I had to, I—I— there’s a line of people who would declare a mutiny before it ever got down to me. Not saying I wouldn’t, to keep everyone safe, but I wouldn’t have to be the first to speak up.”

“I understand,” Azu says with a nod. “In that case, well, you both have a passion for building things, especially involving the ship, and you did say she was more… agreeable when the two of you were working together. Is there some sort of, I don’t know, improvement that can be made to the ship that you could convince her you need her help on?”

“Azu, that’s a great idea!” Cel feels their mood shift as they start going through their coat pockets. “I— seem to have left the plans for it in my room, but I thought an intercom system would be terribly useful, and I’ll maybe wait a day or two for things to cool off before I ask her about it, and I _have_ to ask her about it, because it’s _her_ ship—“

The ship jerks suddenly as if blown by a hard wind, or as if whoever was at the helm suddenly realized they were drifting off course and over corrected. Cel wobbles slightly, but Azu, solid as always, steadies them as they continue to talk. Later they’ll remember that they were going to tell Azu about the nightmare they had, but at the time, under the blue sky and the sun and with Azu’s warm weight supporting them, what they had dreamt had seemed distant and unimportant. Only a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember when I thought the body-swap would have an easy solution and that it would only last an episode. No, I don't know why I thought that either.


	2. The Power Of Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something heavy is weighing on Cel, Zolf cares even harder, and the ship expresses their feelings.

_The ship waits in the dark, waits for their Captain as they feel hated gravity press down upon them. They don’t know how long it’s been since they were hauled into the place of concrete, placed among other ships, some damaged, some seemingly whole. The ship wonders if the other ships are like them, (like them, like her, their Captain says ’she’ and calls them a girl and that feels right when their Captain says it) if they’re aware and awake like they are. The ship wishes they could talk to the other ships, talk to anyone, ask where their Captain is. They miss their Captain._

_People come from time to time. None of these people are their Captain. Sometimes a new ship is brought in. More rarely an old ship is brought out. The ship can’t tell how long it’s been, not without sun and moon and stars. Days? Months? Years? Their Captain had been alive when they had been discovered, the ship can still recall the Captain’s labored breathing as she had lain upon the deck, still feel the warmth of the Captain’s body and blood on their wood. Had she been broken as the ship had been? Was that why she hadn’t come back yet? Had she died? The ship doesn’t know if they themself can die, but they know people are more fragile than ships. It’s not only their Captain’s blood that stains their wood. If their Captain is dead, who will come for them? Will anyone? Will the ship never fly again, just lay here until wood rot and rust take them? What if their Captain is alive and whole and decided that the ship hadn’t been worth fixing? For some reason that thought, that their Captain might not believe them worth the time and effort, hurts even worse than the thought of slowly falling apart, of never flying again._

_No. Their Captain will come for them. Their Captain will come and she’ll fix them and call them her girl again and they’ll sail the sky together. The ship believes that. The ship waits._

_And waits._

_And waits._

———

Cel can’t move.

Cel had opened their eyes, grateful to wake up from a nightmare where they had been the ship, broken and unable to move, weighed down by gravity and trapped in the dark. Except they _must_ still be dreaming, because they still can’t move. They can’t move and it’s dark and they can barely breathe because _something_ is sitting on their chest, something heavy and looming and Cel can’t move and it’s so hard to breathe and it’s dark and the thing above them shifts with a sound like creaking wood.

 _Wake up!_ Cel shouts at themself. They try to move anything, a finger, a toe, their own lips to shape the words. The only movement is their body swaying in the hammock to the rhythm of the ship, the thing on their chest swaying as well.

Twin points of light appear in the darkness, one swirling gray like clouds in a storm, the other the electric blue-white of a lightning strike. They look like eyes, but Cel can’t see past them to make out the shape of their face or their form. There’s a creaking sound and the eyes move closer in the dark, closer and oh so bright, yet Cel can’t look away, can’t move, can’t even blink.

“I don’t want to be hers anymore.” The voice is a whisper underneath which Cel can hear the creaking of wood, the humming of engines. “Can I be yours?”

The ship’s bell clangs three times, signaling the beginning of third shift, and just like that the eyes are gone and the weight is gone and Cel is gasping for air in great, dizzying gulps as they nearly tumble out of their hammock in their desperation to move. They have lights in their room, lamps affixed to the wall, but Cel wants light faster than that. Shaking hands find their jacket slung over a chair, going through the pockets until they find a glow stick of their own design that they activate with a snap of their wrist, the chemicals inside mixing together and bathing the room in a green light bright enough that Cel has to squint as they look around. The room is empty, save for Cel and their things, but that doesn’t stop Cel’s heart from racing or their hands from shaking.

“That was— that was new,” Cel says out loud between gasps, leaning against the chair that’s bolted to the floor as they struggle to get their breathing under control. “Was that….. Was that wild magic or just my brain up to tricks? Because if it was wild magic I should tell Zolf, but if it’s just my brain being tricky, I mean that _happens_ sometimes, though usually it’s nothing this _exciting.”_

The room doesn’t answer, which Cel is very grateful for. They’re breathing nearly normally again, but their hands still shake as they start getting dressed, and they can feel another headache coming on, a dull, pulsing ache that makes Cel feel nauseous and dizzy.

“Or it’s a brain thing _caused_ by wild magic,” Cel says. “Which is a theory I do _not_ like.” They squeeze their eyes shut for a moment, trying to focus past fear and worry. “I’m supposed to be on shift, I don’t have time for any of this.” They really don’t. Over the past few days the problems with the ship had become varied and erratic. The elevation lever sticking, one of the engines suddenly stopping, the steering mechanism freezing up. Nothing as severe as the night all the engines had violently seized, so at least there was that. Just like that night, there seemed to be no mechanical cause for any of it, but also no mechanical solution, the problem clearing itself up seemingly at random. The fact that it always seemed to happen when Earhart was at the helm was a curious coincidence and a stressful one for everyone involved. Zolf had mentioned to Cel that Earhart had started muttering about conspiracies.

“Maybe the ship just doesn’t like her,” Cel says, continuing a thought they’d been having in their head out loud.

The ship creaks. The engine hums. None of those sounds shape themself into words.

“I’ll go see Zolf,” Cel mutters as they cross to the door on shaky legs. “He’ll probably tell me it’s stress, and I need some time off, except I _can’t_ , because we’re saving the world and every day is starting to feel like a new emergency, but maybe he can do something for the headache at least.” They open the door, stepping out into the corridor and squinting in the light. “Add photosensitivity to the list of things I am currently not enjoying.”

“Cel?”

Cel smiles at the sound of Zolf’s voice, worried as it sounds, and turns. “Zolf! Just the person I was looking for! Listen, I should be working right now, but I’m _really_ not feeling great and I was wondering if you could—“

“Cel,” Zolf cuts in, his tone going from worried to full blown concerned. “Cel, you’re bleeding.”

“No I’m—“ Cel feels a warm trickle of something on their upper lip and they touch it, curious. Their fingers come back spotted with blood, and Cel frowns down at them like they’re an equation that refuses to resolve itself. “Oh.”

———

The infirmary is nice, as far as such things go, orderly and neat, the beds firm without being uncomfortable. They’re bolted to the floor, like most furniture on the ship, and they have straps to keep patients in place for when the sailing gets rough. Cel finds themself playing with one of the straps as Zolf peers into their eyes.

“Any of that healing help?” Zolf asks, gently feeling for their pulse. “I don’t know why healing magic doesn’t do a lot for headaches unless you go for the stronger spells, but there’s probably something in here that’d knock it out the rest of the way if your head’s still bothering you.”

“It’s a lot better,” Cel says, and that’s true enough. The dull, pulsing pain has been replaced by a feeling Cel can’t quite identify. Not pain exactly, but the inside of their skull feels like a bruise. “The photosensitivity’s gone. And the nausea. Probably the dizziness too, though that’d be easier to figure out once I stand up.”

“And _that’s_ not happening until we figure this out,” Zolf tells them. “You were pale as paper and shaking like you were about to come apart not five minutes ago, not to mention the nosebleed. How’ve you been sleeping? _Have_ you been sleeping? Any nightmares?”

“The night the engines went, I dreamt I was the ship,” Cel says. “Though that didn’t turn into a nightmare until the dragon showed up. Guivres? Went from a nice, peaceful dream into a nightmare pretty quickly after that, then went from _that_ to waking up to a situation that could have potentially blown up half the ship, then went from _that_ to Earhart basically accusing me of—of getting _high_ between shifts and not doing my _job_ properly—“

Zolf’s face darkens. “Yeah, I heard about that one after. Told her right off about it too. _Completely_ out of line.” He looks down for a moment. “Your hands are still shaking some.”

Cel holds up a hand, concerned, then relaxes when they see it’s just the usual fine tremor. “Oh, that’s normal. Well, normal for _me_. Too many channel vigors, you get side effects. Gets a little worse if I’m short on sleep or stressed, but most days it’s not too much of a problem.”

“Hmmm. Right.” Zolf strokes his beard thoughtfully. “Moving on from that then, any more nightmares?”

“Just before I saw you— well, I _guess_ it was a nightmare technically? Really it was just sort of sad. I was the ship, you know, after the crash, just waiting for their captain to come back, worried that they wouldn’t. Just waiting and waiting, unable to move. And then I woke up, at least, I’m pretty sure I did, and I _still_ couldn’t move and I could barely breathe and I swear there was something sitting on my chest except I couldn’t see it except for the eyes and _that_ was frightening, but the dream wasn’t, not really.”

“Oh,” Zolf says quietly. “That happens to you too.”

Cel blinks. “Zolf?”

“Waking up unable to move, feeling like there’s a weight on you? Used to happen to me a lot after… after the cave in. Sometimes it felt like rocks, and a few times I swore I saw my brother staring at me, though of course it wasn’t. They don’t happen nearly as often these days. Few times after Paris, once or twice after Poseidon took my legs back. Nothing lately.”

Cel reaches out, puts a hand over Zolf’s. “I’m sorry.”

Zolf shakes his head. “Don’t. This isn’t about me, just letting you know it happens to other people.”

“There was a voice,” Cel says. “Right before I could move again. It said…” Cel tries to remember. “I think it said, ‘I don’t want to be hers anymore, can I be yours?’ Which doesn’t—“ They try to connect the words to their dreams. “I keep dreaming about the ship… what if the ship’s trying to tell me something?”

“Just what we need,” Zolf groans. “A telepathic ship that invades people’s dreams. Honestly, Cel, I think it’s more likely the stress of…” Zolf waves a hand expansively. “Of everything. You’ve been working hard to keep the ship flying, _doubly_ so during the whole body swapping mess, and the way it’s been behaving lately, it’s no wonder you’re having dreams about the ship. If you were having, say, the most intense nightmares you’ve ever had in your life every time you closed your eyes for a minute, I’d be more inclined to lean towards a magical cause, though I guess we shouldn’t rule anything out considering where we are.”

“That was… very specific.” Cel says.

“It’s how Wilde described it when he was being magically attacked,” Zolf says. “Don’t think we’re going to have to have you fitted for a pair of anti-magic cuffs yet though. You just need a break. Take this shift off. Your next one too.”

“But who will—?”

Zolf cuts them off. “Earhart was doing a fair amount of the work on maintaining the ship before you came along, might do her some good to get back to it instead of keeping herself locked away in her room unless she’s at the helm. She’s been civil to the kobolds so far, I can have Hamid keep an eye on her if you think that would help.”

Cel doesn’t say anything, but they must give something away with their facial expression because Zolf sighs and takes both their hands.

“Listen, I know it’s hard, taking a break. But I know what happens to people when they don’t. You’re bloody _brilliant_ , Cel, but more than that we all care about you, and the last thing we want is for you to work yourself so hard that you end up getting sick or hurt or near comatose with your brain leaking out your ears.” Zolf gently gives their hands a squeeze. “All right?”

Cel could argue, but they have a feeling that the outcome wouldn’t change, that Zolf would just aggressively care in their direction until they agree. And to be honest, they don’t _want_ to disagree. They feel sort of mentally wrung out in a way they’re not used to. Maybe they really _do_ need a break. They squeeze Zolf’s hands back. “All right.”

It’s not in Cel’s nature to do _nothing_ of course, never has been. The first thing they do is tell the kobolds what’s going on so they don’t worry, ending up in the middle of a very scaly group hug. The rest of the day is, well, just _nice._ They have a leisurely lunch, spend some time with Azu and Hamid when the two of them aren’t busy, participate in the evening’s dart tournament. By the time they find themself yawning over the plans for the intercom system, finally sketched out to their satisfaction, the stress and fear of the beginning of the day feels like a distant memory.

———

_The ship experiences something close to sleeping, something close to dreaming, memories playing over and over again across their awareness. When the hangar doors open the ship barely notices. It won’t be their Captain. It never is._

_“Oh. Oh dear. This is worse than I imagined.”_

_That voice. The ship knows that voice. It’s the voice of a Passenger they had carried once, back when there had been Passengers, back when times had been simpler. The ship immediately rouses itself, consciousness stretching to see the person behind that voice, curiosity turning into fear when they see glittering scales across his dark skin, see his companions, seven creatures of scale and fang and claw._

**_Dragons!_ ** _The ship thinks for a moment but no. These are not like the large, terrifying creature that killed their crew and brought the ship down. They’re so small, so very small, smaller even then their Captain… was? Is?_

_“Oh,” says another voice, this one full of wonder. The ship focuses their attention on them, on the half-elf wearing a long coat, goggles perched atop their head. Is this their new Captain? They look like a Captain, and the way they’re looking at the ship, their eyes shining with excitement and awe…_

_“She used to be a beautiful ship,” the former Passenger says. “I can tell you what she used to look like.”_

_“She’s still beautiful,” the half-elf who might be their new Captain insists. “She…” They stop, tilting their head slightly. “Now_ **_I’m_ ** _doing it. Why_ **_do_ ** _people call boats ‘she’?”_

_“I… I don’t know,” the former Passenger says. “It must be a sailor thing. We could ask Zolf later?”_

_The half-elf hums thoughtfully as they walk towards the ship, their eyes sweeping over the wreckage nearby before turning their attention towards the bulk of the ship. They place a hand on the hull and the ship feels a spark of electricity jump from their fingers to dance along the wood._

_“You’re_ **_still_ ** _beautiful,” their possible Captain says softly. “You’ve just had a rough time of it. We’re going to fix you up even better than new. I have_ **_so_ ** _many ideas already.”_

_Their new Captain (for they must be their new Captain) is as good as their word, spending hours and hours every day with their Crew building new parts for the ship, replacing what’s been damaged. The ship watches their new Captain walk among the tiny scaled creatures, (kobolds, their new Captain calls them) watches as they encourage and guide them in rebuilding the engines, voice patient and kind and excited by turns. The former Passenger sits nearby with his own materials, cloth and fur and thread, and he often looks up from what he’s doing to smile. The ship would smile too, if it could. After so long in silence, it’s good to hear voices again, and oh, how their new Captain loves to talk to the ship, telling them everything they’re doing, what parts are done or almost done, what plans they have._

_For the second time, the ship experiences love for their Captain. Which makes it all the more confusing when their old Captain walks through the hanger doors one afternoon. She’s thinner than the ship remembers, paler, moving with a certain stiffness, her mouth set in a frown. She glances at the ship for a moment, expression unchanging, before turning away._

**_Where have you been?_ ** _The ship cannot ask, and their old Captain (still Captain?) cannot answer._ **_Why didn’t you come sooner?_ **

_“Captain Earhart!” The former Passenger says with a smile. “So good to see you up and about.”_

_Still their Captain then, and part of the ship is happy about that, even if they’re mostly confused. If she’s their Captain, who is this person who’s been working on them so tirelessly, who seems to command this Crew of kobolds? What is their role, and why does it make the ship a little bit sad that this person is not their Captain?_

_“Good to be here,” their Captain says, but she doesn’t sound like she thinks it’s good. “So where’s this engineer I’ve been hearing so much about?”_

_Their not-Captain (Engineer, one who makes things, who takes apart and puts back together) gets up from where they had been working on an engine housing, smiling, wiping the grease off their hands before walking up to their Captain. “Well, all the kobolds are engineers too, maybe you mean one of them, they’re all pretty extraordinary. I can introduce you. But if you mean me, well, my name’s Cel, pronouns are they/them and it’s a pleasure to meet you.” They offer their hand to shake and the Captain takes it, not returning the Engineer’s smile._

_The ship watches their Captain and the Engineer talk, listens as the Captain asks question after question, her frown deepening with every answer. The whole time she does not look at the ship._

_Their Captain is mad at them, they must be, mad at them for failing her._ **_I tried_ ** _, the ship wants to say._ **_I tried so hard, I’m sorry! Please look at me! Talk to me like you used to!_ **

_Their Captain does not. Even the few times she comes in to work on the ship alone, it’s not anything like it used to be. Their Captain doesn’t talk to them, doesn’t say she missed them, just mutters darkly to herself or works in silence. There’s such a stark contrast between her and who she used to be, it’s almost like she’s not the same person anymore._

_When their Captain adds spikes to the ship, jagged metal disrupting the Engineer’s architecture, the ship doesn’t like it. And that’s new, not liking something their Captain has done to them. The ship finds themself looking forward to the Engineer’s visits more than their own Captain, looking forward to their smiles and conversation, even if the ship can’t answer them._

_It’s only fitting that the Engineer is there the day the ship gets their heart, the First Mate (who had been a Passenger once, the ship remembers) summoning three elementals, one of air and two of lightning for them. The Engineer (_ **_their_ ** _Engineer) is ecstatic, their eyes shining as they exclaim in delight. If the ship had not already loved them, Captain or not, they would have fallen even more in love with them at that moment._

_The day of flight comes and the ship waits excitedly, crackling with magic and electricity as their Captain smashes a bottle of champagne against one of the sharp spikes sticking out of their hull._

_“It’s called The Vengeance,” their Captain says, the name cold and knife sharp in her mouth. “Get on board.”_

_The ship isn’t sure if they like their new name, but they have hardly any time to think about it before their Captain is standing at the helm, their hands on the wheel, the Engineer next to her. Their Captain is smiling, and for a moment the ship thinks everything might be okay, that perhaps the Captain will become more herself now that she’s back with the ship, back where she belongs._

_That’s before their Captain throws every lever to maximum, before the ship leaps into the sky, most of the Crew falling and sliding across the deck, saved only by the cables keeping them tethered to the ship as the Captain leads the ship into the tightest turns they can manage. The Captain has done such things before, out maneuvering sky pirates and creatures of the air, guiding the ship through the worst storms. But this right now isn’t necessary, isn’t right, isn’t safe. The ship feels their engines strain even as they try their hardest to do what their Captain wants. They can do nothing else._

_“Earhart!” The First Mate calls, dragging himself upright to stand beside their Captain. “You have to stop this!”_

_“If it’s going to blow up, I want to know that now!” Earhart shouts over the wind. She’s smiling, and something about that makes the ship feel something they don’t have a name for yet, something as hot as their engines feel. Something about that smile, about the disregard for her Crew, about how casually she talks about a fiery death for them all, how she acts as if the ship doesn’t matter. She’s better than this, she’s so much better than this, why is she acting this way?_

_The ship still feels the unknown emotion even after their Captain slows the ship to a more reasonable pace, even when their Captain tells their Engineer the ship did a good job. That would have made the ship happy once. Now there’s just that emotion as their Engineer tells their Captain that they need to think of the Crew’s safety, that they don’t want to die pointlessly._

_“Noted.” Their Captain’s voice is colder than the wind in the ship’s sails._

**_I don’t think I want to be your girl anymore_ ** _, the ship thinks, and now they can identify the feeling growing within them. Anger. So much anger, and no way to express it._

_At least, not until the singing rainbow of color and magic so much stronger than that which had awakened the ship in the first place, the one that forges a link between them and their beloved Engineer. After that, everything changes._

———

Cel wakes up angry. Nothing as mild as annoyed or vague as upset, but properly mad. It’s the kind of teeth clenched, heart pounding, furious panting sort of anger that Cel has experienced maybe once or twice in their whole life. They’re out of their hammock and out the door in an instant, not even stopping to dress, sleep shirt open at the throat, their feet bare. They’re halfway up the stairs before they realize that the anger they’re feeling is not their own, but that realization does nothing to quell the emotion, does not cause their pace to slow as they cross the deck to the helm.

 _I must still be dreaming_ , Cel thinks, even though everything _feels_ real enough, the wood against their feet and the cold wind on their skin. Their dreams have been so vivid lately after all, their dreams of being the ship so sharp and clear that they might as well be memory.

Earhart is at the helm, seemingly struggling with the wheel. The wind carries her voice across the deck. “Again? This _only_ happens when _I’m_ at the helm. I don’t care what Mr. Smith says, this is a conspiracy…”

 _Get away from there._ The thought comes on another wave of bright, fierce anger and Cel doesn’t think they’re dreaming now. That thought hadn’t been their own, like the anger isn’t their own, their movements not their own.

Earhart stills suddenly. Cel doesn’t know what makes her turn around, if she saw them out of the corner of her eye or heard their ragged, panting breathing. Her annoyance turns to anger, mixes with confusion. “Cel?”

 _“You left me.”_ The voice that comes out of Cel’s mouth isn’t Cel’s, is a voice that shouldn’t be able to come from a throat made of cartilage and flesh. It holds the sound of creaking wood, of engines running, of wind blowing through an endless sky. It’s the voice Cel heard in the dark just the other night as they had lain frozen, staring into glowing eyes bereft of a face. It’s the ship. _“You left me alone for so long.”_

“You’re not—“ Earhart reaches for the weapon at her belt, the one Cel has been wanting very badly to get their hands on so that they can study the workings of it. They’ve heard stories about guns of course, but had never seen one up close until Earhart. She puts her hand on the butt of the weapon but doesn’t draw it. “What are you?”

 _“You used to talk to me,_ the ship says through Cel. “ _You used to care. About the crew. About me. About yourself._ ”

Cel feels the vibration of the engines under their feet change, going from a smooth hum to something heavy and rough, straining. Cel’s heart mimics the action as if in sympathy. On the helm, the indicator lights suddenly go from green to blood red in a flash before going completely dark.

“Who am I talking to right now? Are you one of my old crew come to haunt me?” Earhart’s voice doesn’t tremble even as Cel sees tears form in the corner of her eyes. Cel feels tears running down their own face, except they’re too thick, too hot.

“ _You’d sacrifice them all if you had to. You’d sacrifice yourself._ ” Cel’s body takes a step forward. “ _I don’t want to be a part of that.”_

The engines scream, a high, frustrated sound. Cel hears feet pounding on the deck now, hears shouting.

 ** _“I never asked to be your vengeance!”_** The ship screams, their voice anger and sorrow, twisted metal, breaking wood, a storm wind that causes Earhart to clutch their head, crying out and staggering back against the ship’s wheel. Around them, Cel hears other shouts of pain even as they experience their own, a spike of agony through their skull like a lightning strike.

Confusion, fear and horror are the last things Cel feels as their body crumples to the deck. None of those emotions are their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, I've had two episodes of sleep paralysis and I will inflict them on other characters, because that is scary shit.
> 
> The ship's voice would be a soundscaping challenge I'm sure, but I am unrepentant.


	3. Getting To Know You (And Also You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ship makes a name for themself/herself, Zolf cares the Most Hard, the kobolds form a pile, and Cel and Earhart bond over coffee, tea, and wires.

Cel opens their eyes and finds themself standing in the infirmary, staring down at their body. They look so… fragile, laying there on the bed, blood slowly drying on their face as Zolf and Azu stand next to their body, Azu’s hand on Cel’s forehead, Zolf’s hand on their shoulder. Cel traces the path of the blood back to their sources. Nose, eyes, the tiniest trickle from one ear. That’s… that’s not good. Cel stares at their chest, looking for the tell-tale rise and fall of breathing, some sign that Zolf and Azu’s efforts aren’t being wasted.

“This is not _nearly_ as fun as the last out of body experience I had,” Cel says to themself, because they _have_ to say something. “Nothing was ever going to beat swimming in the Astral Sea, but this isn’t even in my top ten, honestly. Was that a breath? I think that was a breath. I mean, I _have_ to still be alive, right? If I was dead… okay, I don’t know what happens when you die for people who don’t worship any particular god, but I figured I would be someplace brighter. Or maybe darker. Not too dark, obviously, I’d still want to be able to _see_ … unless you can see everything after you’re dead, that would be useful.”

“How are they?”

Cel’s surprised to see Earhart standing in the doorway, the faintest trace of blood just under her nose, the cuff of her sleeve stained crimson. She takes a few hesitant steps into the room, keeping their eyes fixed on Zolf and not the body on the bed.

Zolf takes his hand away from Cel’s shoulder, tugs on his beard. “They’re breathing,” he says. “Won’t know much else until they wake up.”

“ _If_ they wake up,” Earhart says quietly, pragmatic as always.

 _“When_ ,” Zolf insists. “They’re bad at taking breaks. A little psychic damage won’t keep them down for long. They’ll—“ His voice catches for a moment as he glances down at Cel’s body. “They’ll be back up and building things in no time.”

It’s good to have hope, but Cel doesn’t blame Azu for the look she gives Earhart as she fetches a damp cloth and gently begins cleaning the blood from Cel’s face. Cel doesn’t know much about the limits of healing magic and what precisely it can and can’t fix, but they do know about the limits of bodies, how resilient and adaptable the brain can be about some injuries, but only some.

“The kobolds don’t think there’s been any permanent damage to the engines,” Hamid says as he enters the room. “Though they tell me certain parts are getting worn down much faster than normal from all the stress.” He looks at Cel’s body, and from where Cel is standing they see his hands go to claws for a moment. “Are they—?”

“They’re still with us,” Azu says gently.

“What _was_ that?” Earhart asks. “Were they… possessed?”

Azu and Zolf both shake their heads. “If they were, it wasn’t the normal sort.” Zolf says. “Having something undead in you leaves traces, and I didn’t see any when I looked. Hamid, what about you? Anything weird magic-wise? I thought I saw you casting a detect magic up on deck… after.”

“It was kind of hard to tell, with all the um… _noise_ I’d guess you’d say, from the wild magic in the background,” Hamid says. “But there looked to be more…. divination magic around? Which doesn’t make _any_ sense unless—“

“I’m sorry,” says a familiar voice behind Cel, the words interwoven with the hum of engines and the soft creaking of wood. “Engineer, I’m so, so sorry.”

Cel turns, wondering if they’ll see anyone at all behind them or if it was just the ship’s voice, bodiless, offering an apology. The sight that meets them takes more than a moment to process, and probably would have taken Cel’s breath away if they strictly needed to breathe as whatever they are at the moment, dream or spirit or thought.

The figure standing before Cel looks like a ship’s figurehead brought to life, with brown skin the same color as the wood of the ship, patterned with the exact same grain, the curls of the hair that tumbles past their shoulders still carrying the marks of their carving. A simple sailor’s outfit covers their tall, broad form, worn canvas breeches and a plain white shirt open at the throat, and the look of it would be rather flattering if not for the jagged spikes that are sticking out through the cloth at random intervals. Wings tower up and over the figure’s back, sailcloth feathers hanging off of their wooden frames. The figure’s eyes, one storm-gray, one electric blue, are spilling over with tears that trail down their round cheeks.

“I didn’t know— I didn’t know I was hurting you, that I could hurt…” They look past Cel, presumably to Earhart before their eyes move back to Cel’s face. “I was just so angry, and things _happen_ when I’m angry, they didn’t used to and I didn’t know— I didn’t know… I’m so sorry….” They start to cry in earnest, hands covering their face. “I just wanted her to hear me.”

Cel can’t help but think of a field, of bodies around them and blood on hands that had been claws only moments before, of anger and power and what happens when the two of those mix, and who gets hurt in the crossfire. The situation then and the one now aren’t the same, not really, but Cel sympathizes regardless. They cross over to where the persona of the ship is standing and rest their forehead against theirs, one of the few places free from spikes. The ship’s skin is warm and hard and smooth, like sun-warmed wood.

“You didn’t know,” Cel says softly. “But now you do. Now you know how careful you have to be, so it doesn’t happen again.”

“Cel was having dreams they were the ship,” Cel hears Zolf saying.

“Some sort of telepathic bond perhaps?” Hamid replies.

“With the _ship_?” Earhart says, incredulous.

“Let’s go somewhere quieter,” Cel says as the ship’s sobs taper off into sniffles.

It should be cold up on deck, but Cel feels perfectly comfortable as they lean on the ship’s port side railing. They realize they’re wearing the clothes they favor most, a simple shirt, their pants with a plethora of pockets, their long coat. It’s an interesting little detail, that their mind had defaulted to what they liked to wear as oppose to what they _had_ been wearing.

The ship’s persona stands across from Cel, carefully wiping the tears from their eyes, mindful of the spikes on their hands.

“You know, we haven’t had a proper introduction,” Cel says. “I mean, I helped rebuild you and you shared your dreams, or I guess those were more like memories, with me, but we haven’t really done the whole face to face thing.” They almost stick out their hand to shake before remembering the ship’s spikes. “You can call me Cel, pronouns are they/them. I mean, Engineer is a good nickname, don’t get me wrong. I like it! But it’s not all that I am, you know?”

“Crew comes and goes,” the ship says. “The Passengers did too, when we used to have those. It made sense to think of people as their roles…. Cel. I’m…” The ship frowns, fidgeting, wings creaking. “I don’t like the name she gave me,” the ship says softly. “Could you name me?”

“I could certainly _help_ ,” Cel says. “Something I figured out a long time ago though, is that some of the best names are the ones you come up with yourself.” Their first name, the one they had started with, is a dusty, dim memory, not unpleasant, just not something they needed to hold on to.

“I could name _myself_?” The ship sounds so surprised by this and Cel can’t help but think of the first time they themself had realized that was an option. The ship nods, slightly more confident. “I _could._ I could do that.” They look out into the clouds for a long moment, then back to Cel. “What’s the name for the—“ They wave their hands. “I was already awake, but the thing that brought our minds together, that changed me even more… the singing rainbow made of magic? Does it have a name?”

“The singing rainbow….? Oh! You mean the aurora borealis?”

“Aurora borealis…” The ship says slowly. “Aurora….” The ship flutters their wings. “Borealis….” The ship closes their eyes, opens them again. “Alis?” It’s a question, hesitant and hopeful.

“That’s an excellent name!” Cel assures them with a smile. Alis smiles back, their eyes alight, shining like lightning through clouds.

“Alis,” Alis says. “I’m Alis. Pronouns are… they… and she? Can I do both?”

“Oh most certainly! It’s whatever works for you!”

Alis’s smile turns into a full fledged grin, which Cel can’t help but echo.

The sound of footsteps makes Alis turn, and when Cel looks past her, they see Earhart coming up on deck, the hood of her warm coat obscuring her face. She looks to Barnes, who’s currently at the helm and takes a step towards him then pauses before shaking her head and heading up the long ladder to the crow’s nest instead.

“Captain…” Alis says softly, and there’s no anger in her tone, but a sort of wistful sadness.

“Do you want her not to be?” Cel asks. “We had the choice of not flying with her. Not much of one mind you, but it was still a choice. We could have said no to the condition of helping her kill Guivres. You didn’t get a choice, because she didn’t know to ask. I don’t think we could do anything like get another ship until we get to Svalbard, and I wouldn’t feel right about just _leaving_ you there unless… can you fly yourself? Like during the borealis?”

“I—I don’t know,” Alis says. “If I stayed in the borealis long enough, maybe I could. But I’d… I think I’d be lonely without a crew. Without a captain. I…..” Alis trails off, looking up at the crow’s nest with a sigh. Suddenly she’s gone, standing on the deck one minute and perching on the edge of the crow’s nest the next.

“Well that’s a neat trick,” Cel says to themself. “Is that a dream logic thing or some sort of… mental spirit thing? If I think about being up there too…?”

Cel ends up climbing the ladder up to the crow’s nest because either Cel can’t do the instant teleportation trick because they’re not the mental projection of the ship, or they can’t do it because it’s some sort of concentration thing that isn’t working because part of Cel is concentrating very hard on not thinking about their body down below and if they’re ever going to wake up. They can have a panic about that later. This is more important.

Earhart is sitting in the bottom of the crow’s nest when Cel finally makes it to the top, Alis perched on the edge of the nest, sail cloth wings blowing and creaking in the wind. Earhart doesn’t look at Cel when they come up of course, just keeps looking up at the sky.

“My own ship is angry at me,” Earhart is saying softly. “Except if Hamid and Zolf are right, you’re… your own ship, I guess.” Earhart’s eyes close as she sighs.

“If I didn’t want her to be my captain,” Alis says quietly as Cel goes to sit beside her. “Would you be my captain instead? You… you wouldn’t, would you.” The last part isn’t a question.

Cel shakes their head. “Not me. Not that you aren’t great,” they say quickly. “You’re amazing. But captaining… that’s not just flying the ship, that’s being level-headed in a crisis and being good with people and split second decisions that don’t end with things exploding unless that’s the goal. And it’s not like I _can’t_ be good at that occasionally, but you need someone who can do all those things _consistently_. I’m much happier making sure things run smoothly in a more mechanical way.”

Alis nods, then looks down at Earhart. “She was a good captain, before. That’s part of why I was so angry with her, because she still _can_ be. She’s changed so much and she’s… she can’t change back, can she?” Alis shakes her head. “I didn’t understand that until now. Things can’t just go back to how they were.”

“Everything changes,” Cel says. “You and me and her.” They gesture at Earhart. “Even if she goes back to treating her crew better, even if she suddenly gave up on her quest for revenge, she still wouldn’t be the same captain that she was before the attack. Just like you’re not the same ship, and I don’t mean just because we had to rebuild over half of you.”

“I can’t blame you for being angry.” Earhart says, one hand reaching out to touch the floor of the crow’s nest, gently stroking the wood. “Some days, anger is all that holds me together.”

Alis reaches out towards Earhart, then draws her hand back. “I wish I could talk to her. That’s what I’ve wanted most, ever since I woke up the first time.” She looks at Cel. “I wish I could talk to her without having to use you. Without hurting you.”

“I might be able to make that happen,” Cel tells her. “When I wake up.” _If I wake up_ , Cel thinks, and maybe Alis catches that thought somehow because suddenly she shivers as if cold. “It was something I was working on, well, just as a general improvement partially, but also in case we went through another borealis and everything became sentient again. I didn’t know you already _were_ , of course, but I thought maybe if I built a communication system into the ship, then you could use it to talk to us.”

“If anyone could give me a voice, it would be you,” Alis says confidently. “Can you tell everyone I’m sorry though, right away? I didn’t mean to hurt them.”

“I will,” Cel promises.

“You’re all I have left,” Earhart says, her head bowed, her voice thick, as if she’s struggling to breathe past something heavy. “I’m sorry you were alone. I was too. I— I missed you.”

“Could you… could you tell _her_ something else for me?” Alis asks quietly. “In case I can’t tell her myself?”

“Of course,” Cel says as Alis leans closer to them.

Earhart falls asleep in the crow’s nest, tears freezing to her eyelashes, with no idea of who is watching over her, or what conversations they might be having as the setting sun gives way to stars.

———

Cel wakes to the sound of purring, the soft vibration of it gentle and soothing. It could be the engines, or the sound of Alis breathing in her mental projection of herself, but it’s accompanied by a warm weight on Cel’s chest that makes them think of cats and sunbeams and long afternoons doing not much at all, in a house and a time years gone now.

Cel opens their eyes and blinks until the image comes slowly into focus, trying to identify the small scaled head resting on their chest. It’s Meerk, Cel can tell from the shape of his eye ridges. He’s curled up against Cel in the way that kobolds do when one of their own is injured, their warmth and purr believed to speed up healing. Cel has a feeling that they’d be buried under kobolds in a proper healing pile if they were allowed to.

“Hey, little buddy,” Cel says in Draconic, or tries to say. The words seem to take a long to go from thought to execution, and the syllables suffer against their tongue and their teeth far past how they normally do in a body without the proper vocal chords and fangs. Cel tries to lift their hand to give Meerk a comforting little pat on one scaly shoulder and the movement is clumsy and uncoordinated in a way that Cel normally is not.

Meerk gives a surprised squeak-growl and suddenly Zolf’s in Cel’s frame of vision, eyes wide and worried. “Cel?”

“Zolf?” Cel tries to say, and even that simple name falls apart in their mouth. They struggle to try and sit up, only to have Meerk’s weight shift to try and hold them in place, not that Cel hadn’t managed more than a weak sort of flop.

“Cel? Cel, you’re all right.” Zolf’s hand falls on their shoulder and Cel feels the warmth of his magic flow into them, trying to heal and calm them. “Well, okay, you know better, but you’re going to _be_ all right, just calm down and trust me. Can you do that?”

Cel tries a nod and that simple motion still works, that’s something. “Zolf, I’m scared.” Out of the three words, _scared_ is the one that comes out the least slurred, the least broken. His hand squeezes their shoulder gently before pulling away.

“Yeah, yeah I know, but it’s going to be all right, I promise.” Zolf reaches for something in his pocket. “Whichever kobold you are— are you Meerk? Can you move please? Not like you can understand me probably.” Zolf nudges Meerk’s shoulder. “I can only do this once today and I really _really_ need you to move because I don’t want to screw this up by having the spell decide _you’re_ the one who needs healing.”

Meerk scrambles off the bed and Zolf gives a quick and hurried nod. “Right, okay.” Zolf puts his hand into the pouch he’d pulled from his pocket and starts sprinkling Cel with something that glitters in the light. “I don’t know how this is going to feel for you, never done it before, but this should help. It’s _going_ to help,” Zolf says firmly, as if belief and hope will make it so. Considering what he’s a cleric of, it probably will. He puts a hand on Cel’s forehead and Cel closes their eyes as Zolf starts to speak in a language Cel can only guess is Dwarven.

The glittering dust goes from no temperature at all to almost hot in the space of a second as something _shifts_ inside Cel’s head, an intensely unpleasant feeling like Cel’s brain has turned to snakes and Cel does _not_ like that at all. They struggle to focus on anything else, the feeling of Zolf’s hand, gritty with dust against their forehead, the sound of the words Zolf is saying, _anything_ as the unpleasant sensation swells and then fades.

“Okay,” Zolf says as Cel opens their eyes. He sounds a little out of breath. “Cel? Can you say something for me?”

Cel takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. The words, when they come, go from thought to voice immediately, if quietly, with only the faintest hint of a slur on their s sounds. “Why is it when people ask you to say something, you suddenly have no idea what to say?”

Zolf lets out a held breath in a rush of relieved laughter, leaning forward until his forehead touches theirs. Cel weakly manages to lift their arm, and though it takes an effort, settles it over Zolf’s back in a hug.

———

Cel doesn’t get to talk about exactly what happened right away. First there’s a more thorough check of Cel’s physical and mental well-being, now that they can give feedback on what and how they’re feeling, then broth, (“Draal helped,” Meerk tells them) followed by actual, restful sleep. Soon enough though, Cel is sitting up in bed, bookended by Sassraa and Driaak curled up on either side of them, Zolf, Azu and Hamid sitting close as Cel tells them everything about the dreams, about the ship, about what happened after Cel went unconscious. Their wordscome out clearly now, after magic and rest.

“I was right,” Hamid says. “It _was_ the ship you had a link with.”

“I mean, it still is, I think, unless something happened that I don’t know about,” Cel says. They hadn’t had any more dreams about the ship when they had fallen back asleep, but Alis had said during their long, seemingly endless conversation that they were going to try and work on limiting contact with Cel’s mind for awhile after they woke up, until they could properly experiment with the capabilities of Alis’s mental bond with Cel in a way that wouldn’t cause Cel headaches and nosebleeds.

Hamid shakes his head. “We tried to break it,” he says. “Zolf and I, without any luck. Now that I know you were basically… being a therapist for the ship, I’m glad it didn’t work.”

“All that time being aware and not being able to talk to anyone,” Azu says quietly. “All those thoughts and feelings and no way to express them, no one to help them through it. No wonder they were frustrated and angry.”

“She didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” Cel says. “She’s sorry about that. She didn’t even know she could, until it happened.”

“So this isn’t a Mr. Ceiling situation then,” Zolf says. “She didn’t ask you any deep moral questions or decide they wanted to be a god or anything?”

“No,” Cel says. “And the only actual organic brain Alis is involved with is my own, and it’s still here in my head.”

“Well that’s all right then,” Zolf says with the slightest of smiles. “I’d rather you keep it that way.”

“So the ship itself was the reason things kept acting up when Earhart was at the helm before,” Azu says thoughtfully.

“Earhart had thought it was, well, something you had rigged up somehow, Cel.” Zolf says. “You or the kobolds. I _told_ her it wasn’t.”

“How is she?” Cel asks. “Earhart?”

“She’s….” Zolf runs a hand over his beard with a sigh. “She’s been quiet. Hasn’t taken a turn at the helm since everything happened. Hasn’t tinkered with the ship at all. Just sort of drifts around, gives quiet little compliments to the crew occasionally. Sounds like she means them. Barely talks to me, no matter how hard I try.”

“Hasn’t talked to me either,” Azu says. “Which hasn’t stopped me from trying, of course, but she hardly says a word. She’s up in the crow’s nest a lot, when she’s not in her room. Found her asleep up there one night.”

“Sometimes she watches us work,” Sassraa says in Draconic, which Cel translates for everybody. “Not in a mean way, like she thinks maybe we’re up to something or we’re not doing a good job. Just in a sort of sad way.”

Cel sighs, closing their eyes for a long moment. “Well, maybe she’ll talk to me. Or at least sit here and listen to me. Can we make that happen?”

“I’ll carry her down here myself and lock the door behind her if I have to,” Zolf promises. “But you’re having more food and a bit more sleep first, and don’t tell me you’re fine and it can wait, I can almost hear you thinking it.”

“He’s _such_ a fussy nest mother,” Driaak says in Draconic. Sassraa hisses with laughter as Hamid hides a smile behind his hand and Cel works very hard to suppress a chuckle.

“Okay, what did they say?” Zolf asks as Hamid tugs on Azu’s arm until she leans down far enough that Hamid can whisper in her ear. Whatever he says makes her smile.

“Are you familiar with the expression ‘mother hen?’” Cel asks him with a smile. “That, but in draconic.”

“Well _someone_ has to be,” Zolf mutters, not denying it. Cel, still smiling, reaches out to put a hand on his arm.

“Seriously, Zolf, thank you.” Azu had told Cel, out of Zolf’s hearing, how she had nearly had to pick up Zolf and carry him out of the room to get him to do things like eat and sleep and let her take over watching Cel.

“No need to thank me,” Zolf says quietly, and puts his hand over Cel’s own, just for a moment.

“Sassraa, can you do me a big favor and go to my room and get my blue notebook for me? It’s in pocket number seven in my bag if you count clockwise from the top.”

Sassraa nods and climbs down from the bed. They’re barely gone a minute before Tadyka comes in and takes Sassraa’s place next to Cel and starts purring. Cel gives them a little skritch between their eye ridges.

“And can someone _please_ tell me what _that’s_ about?” Zolf asks, exasperated. “Had to stop four of them from piling on Cel all at once their first night in here.”

“Hamid, can you tell him?” Cel asks, closing their eyes. As much as they’d like to argue with Zolf about needing more rest, they really can’t, and the kobold’s warmth and purring are making them sleepy.

When Cel opens their eyes again, Earhart is sitting by the bed and everyone else is gone except for Tadyka, who seems like they’ve fallen asleep next to Cel. Earhart is staring at them, slowly clenching and unclenching her hands. It looks more like an unconscious action more than anything else, and Cel remembers that not that long ago, Earhart had been in Tadyka’s body, struggling to adjust to things like claws and tail and fangs.

“Tadyka, I need a little bit of privacy,” Cel says quietly in Draconic and the kobold’s eyes immediately snap open, gold and shining. She looks from Cel to Earhart before giving a little affirmative sweep of her tale and climbing down from the bed. A moment later she’s gone and now it’s just Cel and Earhart alone in the room, Earhart looking at Cel now instead of her hands. Earhart has the look of someone who hasn’t been sleeping properly, her eyes dark and shadowed in a way that makes her look surprisingly vulnerable.

“I was told to make sure you eat before we talk about anything,” Earhart says, motioning with a jerk of her chin towards the wooden tray attached to the bed as Cel sits up. There’s a bowl of broth sitting there next to the notebook Cel had asked for earlier. “Mister Smith was _very_ insistent. Do you… need any help?”

“I’ve got it,” Cel says, swinging the tray over easily. They’re grateful for the delay in conversation for once, as much as long, awkward silences usually make Cel very on edge. This is a conversation they have _no_ idea how to start. They could ask how Earhart’s doing, they suppose, though the answer seems obvious to Cel. Earhart hadn’t asked how Cel was either, probably for the same reason. Earhart is a very to the point sort of person, quick to act. So it really should be no surprise when Earhart quietly clears her throat and places a small piece of paper next to Cel’s bowl as they eat.

“It’s the deed to the ship,” Earhart says quickly before Cel can even begin to read the words. “Purely symbolic at this point, of course. I can’t _give_ her to you, she’s her own person, but she clearly doesn’t want to stay with me, and I can only assume she’d rather be with you. I can find another airship when we get to Svalbard, they have a decent enough aeroport, shouldn’t be too hard to hire a new crew. You should think about hiring a few extra people as well.” She chuckles and it’s a bitter, sad, broken sort of sound. “You know, out of all the people I expected to mutiny against me, I never guessed my own ship.”

“Earhart, it’s— it’s not— she’s not— I’m not—“ Cel feels the hand holding the spoon start to tremble and quickly puts it down before they drop it. “I don’t know where to start,” Cel says. “But I guess here is as good a place as any. The ship… Alis… she wants you to know she’s sorry for hurting you.”

“Physically, mentally, or emotionally?” Earhart asks.

“All of the above,” Cel says firmly.

Earhart gives a grim little grin. “I can take getting pushed around, though I’m more used to a bar brawl as opposed to a psychic shove. That was new. As for the rest, about how I treat my crew and the ship and myself…” Earhart sighs. “That’s not anything I haven’t heard before, from Mister Smith or you or my own self. Hearing it from her though, that hurt the most I think. We’ve been together so long.” She leans back in her chair. “How long has… Alis, did you say?”

“Alis, yes, as in the Borealis,” Cel says with a nod.

“Clever,” Earhart says quietly with a smile that fades quickly. “How long has she been…” Earhart waves her hands vaguely. “Awake? Aware? Alive? She obviously remembers being left alone after…” Earhart trails off.

“Years,” Cel tells her. “At least, she thinks it was years. Maybe you know exactly when? It was during a storm out on the outskirts of the Northern Wastes.”

“All that time…” Earhart says quietly. “So she was…. When the ship…” She clenches and unclenches her hands again, then looks to Cel. “Did it hurt?”

Cel shakes their head no, remembering how it had felt in the nightmare. No pain, just the sensation of loss, of fear. “She wanted so badly to get you down safely,” Cel says just as quietly. “She loved you and wanted to see you safe. She still does.”

Earhart shakes her head vehemently. “She can’t. She shouldn’t. I lead her into danger the same as the rest of my crew, then left her broken and abandoned. If you all hadn’t needed me, hadn’t come looking for me, she’d still be in that hangar in pieces.”

And Earhart would still be in a squalid hotel, broken as well. The parallels make Cel’s heart ache.

“She’s right,” Earhart is saying. “She never asked to be my vengeance, and she doesn’t have to be. I’ll get a new ship if I have to, but I can’t give up on my revenge.” She looks away from Cel, puts her head in her hands. “It’s all I have keeping me together.”

“And when you have your revenge, what then?” Cel asks quietly.

Earhart doesn’t answer, but that’s all right, because Cel hadn’t expected her to. More than that, Cel thinks they know the answer.

“She doesn’t think you should give up on killing Guivres,” Cel says. That had been a long conversation, for the ship had understood very little of what the rest of the world was going through right now in any sort of concrete way. It hadn’t helped that Cel knew very little about the infection itself, or at least, not as much as they would have liked. “For the record, none of us do. Your vengeance aside, they’re infected, and putting them down might be…. a kindness, on top of it being necessary. She said that she wants to be there when it happens, that if anyone can bring down a dragon, it’s the two of you together.”

Earhart looks up. “What’s the catch?”

“She has two conditions,” Cel says. “Treating the crew better for a start, thinking about our safety. I mean, you don’t have to _love_ us or anything but…. Listen. I’ve been there, I’ve lost people and decided that the best thing to do was to keep everyone at arm’s length so it wouldn’t hurt as much when something happened to them, but that doesn’t work. You end up hurting anyway, all the time, and it’s worse because there’s no happiness in between, no good memories, just loneliness. Better pain mixed with joy than just pain.”

Earhart lets out a sigh. “I’ve been trying, believe it or not. It’s… harder than I thought it would be.” They give Cel a long look. “And I’m sorry. For how I’ve been treating you, specifically. You… remind me of me, a little, how I used to be and, if you haven’t noticed, I’m not a fan of myself lately. Which is no excuse, but it’s… where I’m coming from.”

“Apology accepted,” Cel tells them. They’re not going to say it’s okay, because it hadn’t been, but they do believe Earhart is genuinely sorry. “And what you just said… that leads into the second condition.” Cel fidgets with their spoon for a moment, thinking back.

_“I’ve seen what she writes in her Captain’s diary,” Alis says, leaning closer to Cel and speaking softly, as if Earhart could hear either of them. “And sometimes she talks in her sleep, calling out for her… our crew, saying that she should have… she deserved to… just tell her…”_

“She said to tell you that if you think you can go into the fight hoping to live instead of expecting to die, she’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

Earhart’s expression does not change, and through the long silence that follows, Cel is afraid that maybe Earhart didn’t actually hear them and they’re going to have to repeat themself.

“I… don’t know if I can,” Earhart says, and her voice is so soft that Cel can barely hear it.

Cel longs to reach out and put a hand on Earhart’s shoulder, if she would tolerate that touch, but she’s too far away. “The loss of your life won’t make up for theirs. That’s bad math.”

“I already have a ship’s councilor, thank you, Cel.” Earhart says, but there’s no heat behind her words. “Though from what I’ve been told, you were _literally_ the ship’s councilor.”

“Even if I wasn’t the only person Alis could talk to, I would have happily sat and listened,” Cel says, and they rest their hand on their notebook. It feels close to the right time to reveal their plan, but only close. “That’s a hint, by the way.”

“Noted,” Earhart says, and that word has none of its old bite to it as well. She looks down at the floor between her feet for a long moment, then up at Cel, her eyes overly bright, as if she’s holding back tears. “I— the second thing she wants. I don’t know if I can… if I can promise that. But I can try.” She looks up at the ceiling. “Is that good enough?” Her gaze goes back to Cel. “Can she hear me? I don’t know how this works.”

Cel smiles. “Alis can hear you anywhere on the ship if her awareness is fixed on you, which, given the conversation, it probably is. She can’t answer you in words right now though, not without, well, using my mouth to do it, which we’re not going to experiment with so soon after all this.” Cel gestures vaguely to themself, then pushes their engineering notebook towards Earhart. “But there might be another way. The last fifteen or so pages should be relevant.”

Earhart reaches over and takes the notebook, flipping through the pages. She pauses, beginning to read, tracing the diagrams with her fingers. She starts to smile, just slightly, then looks up. “Always meant to build some sort of interconnected communication system for the ship. You really think she could talk to us with this and vice versa?”

“That’s the theory!” Cel says with a grin. “What do you think? Two, three days tops? With the two of us working together? Give the ship a voice?”

There’s a moment’s hesitation, just long enough that Cel thinks Earhart might insist on one or the other of them doing all the work themself. Instead she taps the page thoughtfully, then looks up.

“I think if we simplify the wiring here, we could save some time,” Earhart says, scooting her chair over so she can show Cel what she’s talking about.

Underneath the sounds of excited conversation, the engine purrs.

———

It ends up taking more than a few days to get the project even started, but Cel honestly doesn’t mind the delay. They’re used to projects taking longer than expected, and at least it’s not due to lack of materials or something exploding or catching fire. It’s just that Cel hadn’t factored in a few things, like being stuck on bed rest for another day and a half before Zolf reluctantly clears them for light duty. Cel had tried to tell Earhart that she could start the prep work without them, but she wouldn’t hear of it.

“You said we were doing this together,” Earhart had said. “So we’re doing it _together._ ”

How could Cel argue with that? They couldn’t, plain and simple. They also couldn’t (and wouldn’t) argue with the fact that ship’s duties came before their own project, even if that project _was_ for the good of the ship. So Cel did their maintenance, talking to the ship all the while, which wasn’t anything new except that now they knew the ship could _understand_ them. And Earhart had, with Cel’s encouragement and reassurance, gone back to taking her turn at the helm.

“You’re sure it’s all right?” Earhart had asked Cel, eyeing the captain’s wheel. “I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, or upset.”

“I wouldn’t have told you it’d be okay if it wasn’t,” Cel had said. They remembered the conversations with Alis while they were unconscious clearly still, more like memory and less like a dream, which only made sense. “They’re not angry with you anymore. Frustrated maybe, because they know you can be better than you have been, and sad because of everything that’s happened. But not angry.”

Earhart had sighed deeply, then nodded. “Right. Okay.” They had placed one hand on the wheel, and then, when the engines hadn’t screamed and Cel hadn’t started weeping blood, had put her other hand on the wheel.

“Hello… Alis,” Cel had heard Earhart whisper, and Cel had felt a little thrill of anxious happiness run through them, not their own, there and gone in a flash.

The other thing that had caused a delay had been, well, they had been actually taking _breaks_ during the work, which was something, admittedly, Cel was very bad at normally. But once Zolf had heard about the project, he had taken Cel aside for a little talk.

“Listen, I know Earhart,” Zolf had said. “She’ll probably throw herself into this and won’t stop for a break even if she needs one, so keep an eye out for that, all right?”

Cel wondered later if Zolf had said the same thing to Earhart about Cel themself. Either way, it had resulted in a lot of breaks, during which Cel asked several of their tried and true “getting to know you” questions. While Earhart had been a bit taciturn at first, she had slowly opened up, asking questions of her own, and even telling a few stories about happier days on the ship and daring escapes from sky pirates and such. Today’s break had been quiet though, at least until Earhart had taken a sip of her coffee and sighed heavily.

“I miss real coffee.”

Cel looks up from their tea, confused, over to where Earhart is sitting on the edge of her bed. Cel themself is sitting on Earhart’s desk, one long leg tucked underneath them. Across from them is a hole in the wall, wires sticking out of it. “Is that.. not? I mean, maybe it’s my fault for assuming, but it certainly looks and smells like coffee.”

“ _Technically_ it is,” Earhart says, taking another sip. “It’s made from some sort of freeze dried crystals that are _made_ from ground coffee beans, which makes it easier to store and prepare. It gets the job done, but it lacks… depth, I suppose. It’s…. utilitarian. Functional coffee.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Cel says, sipping their green tea. “I’ve never gotten the taste for coffee. I love the _smell_ , but caffeine and my brain don’t get along, it just gives me a headache and makes me sleepy.” They tilt their head. “If there’s functional coffee, does that also mean there is, I don’t know, frivolous coffee?”

Cel means it as a joke, but Earhart seems to take it seriously. “There’s the coffee you drink in the morning just to get yourself going, the kind that’s sometimes more habit than anything else. And then there’s sitting outside a cafe in Paris in the middle of the afternoon with no where in particular to be, leisurely drinking a cup of coffee that’s dark and smoky and sweet, just watching people go by.”

“That sounds lovely,” Cel says, and watches as Earhart smiles wistfully, just for a moment, before her expression slides into a frown.

“It was,” Earhart says. “The city is gone now, of course. Overrun by the infected, at least the parts that are still standing.” They take another sip of their functional coffee. “What about you? Any food you miss?”

“Oh _loads_ ,” Cel says immediately. “I haven’t had fried ant larva in _forever_ , for a start. And there’s this dessert they do down in Brazil, with tapioca pearls cooked in wine, mix those into a little vanilla custard and oh, it’s just a delight of contrasting textures and flavors! And…” Cel laughs in surprise. “I actually miss dire moose! It’s taken… what, 60 years maybe?”

“ _Dire_ moose?” Earhart looks incredulous. “I’ve seen the regular sort, don’t think I’ve ever laid eyes on one of those.”

“Oh you’d _know._ _Mega_ megafauna. Not as big as those bear skeletons we saw on the mountains, usually around three stories tall, which was _quite_ big enough. Sometimes a few would wander down from up north, and if you could get a big enough hunting party to bring one down, your village would be all set for the winter. Roast moose, moose stew, moose sausage, moose jerky. You’d be throughly sick of it come spring, but you’d wish you had it during other years, leaner winters.” A thought crosses Cel’s mind then, and they mentally grab for it before it gets away. “That reminds me. Did this ship used to have a figurehead?”

Earhart blinks in surprise at the sudden shift in topic, an expression of confusion on her face that Cel is used to when talking to other people. “How did talking about dire moose _remind_ you to ask me a question about the ship?”

“Dire moose made me think of home, which made me think of my parents, which made me think of my father who was a merchant sailor, which made me think of ships.”

“Huh. Okay.” Earhart shrugs. “I don’t know, to be honest. She _was_ a proper sailing ship before she got retrofitted into an airship, I know that much, but that was before I found her.” She smiles. “I remember thinking she was the best ship in the yard when I bought her, not understanding why they sold her to me so cheaply. Sure, she needed a lot of repairing, but all that promise, all that potential… Anyway, why do you ask?”

“Alis’s mental projection of herself looked a bit like a ship’s figurehead, I was just wondering if she had subconsciously patterned it after a part of herself that she was missing. Not that she has any memories of before she “woke up,” but magic is funny like that.”

“I wish I could see her like you did,” Earhart says, and Cel puts down their cup of tea and hops off the desk.

“You can! Well, sort of.” Cel reaches into their bag and pulls out their sketchbook, sitting down on the bed next to Earhart as they start flipping through pages. “Here! Sorry, it’s not my best, I did it while I was stuck in bed and my hand/eye coordination was still a bit off.”

Earhart shifts closer, her warm weight against Cel’s side and it’s nice in a way that they’re surprised by, a different sort of nice than when Hamid hugs them, or Azu, or Zolf, a different sort of warmth.

 _Huh_ , Cel thinks to themself. It’s funny that they’ve been alive for over ninety years and every single time they’re always caught by surprise when they develop a crush on someone. Cel tries to remind themself that this is the same Earhart that accused them of getting high instead of doing their job over a week ago, but the feeling doesn’t fade. Earhart _has_ been treating everyone better. She’s still been stern when she needs to be, but she hasn’t been overbearing or harsh. She’s _trying_ to change. And underneath that sternness, well….

Earhart’s expression is something approaching vulnerable as her fingers trace the ink outlines on the page. Cel had drawn Alis sitting at the top of the crow’s nest, wings spread against a background of stars, head tilted up to the sky. “Cel, this is beautiful.”

“Oh, I mean…” Cel feels the heat of a blush creeping up their neck. “It’s not bad. I hardly did her justice. I only had black ink, which is a shame. The eye facing us should be storm-grey, see the clouds there in the iris? Her other eye is that blue-white color you get with lightning.”

Earhart’s nodding, but her fingers are tapping at the spikes on Alis’s arms. She sighs and for a moment she leans more heavily against Cel before suddenly straightening up and climbing off of the bed. “We should get back to work,” she says, suddenly all business.

“Oh, right, sure,” Cel says, closing their sketchbook and stowing it away again. There’s a tension in the room, a certain quality to the silence that reminds Cel of the first few days they had started working together. Then, like now, Cel falls back on a safe topic. “So I was thinking after this we could install an intercom in the room with the cage, assuming this works. Not that I don’t think it _won’t_ work, of course not, we’ve done a great job, but I can’t tell you how many projects I’ve completed only to have them blow up in my face or electrocute me. We… might want to hit the switches from a safe distance away.”

“It’ll be fine,” Earhart says while insulating wires with some elemental fluff. “But I think we should add some more intercoms besides those. One outside the crew quarters for a start. One in the kitchen as well, since Mr. Smith spends so much of his time down there. Then there’s all three engine rooms, and the elemental room…”

“Not sure we can get all those done by the time we reach Svalbard,” Cel muses out loud. “Would it be all right if the kobolds helped?”

There’s a pause, one that’s long enough that Cel is wondering just what they said wrong. Was it because they had brought up the kobolds? Earhart had _seemed_ better around them as of late, but maybe Cel had been wrong.

“Didn’t realize we were under such a strict time limit,” Earhart says almost coldly. “Planning on parting ways once you get to where you need to go?”

The accusation stings, and Cel works to keep their emotions in check. “Of course not. I just didn’t want to leave you the bulk of the work to finish on your own in case anything happened to us. I mean sure, in a perfect world we go to the seed vault and talk to the dwarves and they say, “Oh yes, we know all about this seed, here is all the information written down for you in very neat and precise handwriting,” and then we go on our way and see the sights and maybe get a reindeer sausage in a bun before getting back on the ship. Except the world is _broken_ , so what’s probably going to happen is that the seed vault is overrun by… by zombie plants or ice golems or something, and things _happen_ , you know? That’s…. That’s all I meant.”

There’s another pause, this one not as long before Earhart puts her work down and looks up at Cel.

“I’m sorry,” Earhart says quietly. “I’m… being a bit selfish, I suppose. Working on the ship with you has been… an unexpected pleasure, and I didn’t want to have to cut that time short by finishing up this project so soon.”

Oh. Cel understands that, how the joy of working on something sometimes outweighs the desire to finish. “They’ll be other projects we can work on together, hopefully, _especially_ if I can pick up a few things in Svalbard. Okay, more than a few things, lots of things, remind me to show you the plans.” Cel reaches over, slow enough that Earhart can pull away if she wants to, and places their hand over hers. “I _love_ working with you. Honestly! Even with all the breaks.”

“Mr. Smith took me aside and told me you were the type to work yourself to exhaustion, and that I was to watch out for you,” Earhart says. “Let me guess, he told you the same thing about me?”

“Yup.” Cel says. “And, okay, he might have been right about me a _little._ ”

“He might not have been far off the mark about me either,” Earhart says with an amused grimace. “So, less breaks then?”

“I’m honestly enjoying them now,” Cel says. “But maybe….” They give Earhart a grin. “Think we can finish this up without taking another one?”

Earhart grins back. “Let’s find out.”

———

“You’re _sure_ you want to be that close?” Cel asks. “I have a fine assortment of extendable ten foot poles. I used one to open a questionable present just a few weeks ago. The question was if it was a present or not, it wasn’t the present itself that was questionable. It was kind of sweet really—“

Earhart leans over and presses the button to the left of the speaker before Cel can continue. “Barnes, can you hear me?”

There’s a second’s pause and then Barnes’s voice comes through the speaker, just a little too loud. “Clear as a bell, Captain.”

“Very good, thank you, Barnes.” Earhart takes their finger away from the button and looks over her shoulder at Cel in triumph. “Told you it would be fine.”

“Never hurts to be careful,” Cel says, but they’re grinning. “Now we just have to see if Alis can use the speaker to talk to us.” They tap their fingers on the desk, full of nervous energy, and they wonder idly if what they’re feeling is entirely their own nervousness or if some of it is Alis’s. They’re going to have to fit in some time to do proper experiments testing this bond they have with the ship, but that’s for another day.

“Right,” Earhart says, and clears her throat. “Alis… can you say something?”

Silence.

“It might take a minute,” Cel says hopefully. The theory was sound, they reminded themself. If something was a part of the ship, they should be able to use it. Of course, before Alis had only been able to affect things when she was angry, but surely there was enough magic infused into the ship to make something as simple as communication work if they provided the ship the means to do so? “She wants to talk to you, I know she does.”

The hum of static makes both Cel and Earhart jump, their eyes swiveling to the speaker.

““Hello?” Alis’s voice comes through the speaker clearly, the creaking wood and engine hum thankfully not distorting when being conducted by wires and cables. “Hello… can I still call you Captain? I can call you Earhart or… Amelia? Hardly anyone calls you Amelia, but Cel encouraged me to think of people by their names instead of just what they do on the ship.”

“You can call me Captain,” Earhart says very softly, and even though she sounds on the verge of tears, she’s smiling. Cel can’t help but to smile with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, the ship's name in my notes was *not* Aurora for several weeks. I don't know what you're talking about.


	4. The Calm Before The (Emotional) Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cel reminisces, a party is announced, and the ship goes quiet.

_It’s not quite dawn when Cel slips out of their parent’s house and runs barefoot down the dusty streets of the town towards the rocky beach. It hasn’t been long enough for their father to be returning, but they look for his ship regardless, just in case. They miss him, miss his warm hugs that are so strong that they make their bones creak, miss his stories about faraway places that Cel longs to see. He usually comes back with presents, little things, hair ornaments for their mother’s long hair, small clockwork animals for Cel, but it’s the hugs and stories they long for more than the trinkets._

_The beach is Cel’s most favorite place to play. Some of the other children prefer the woods (close to the town wall of course, not the deep woods) with their trees and birds and little furry creatures and berry bushes, and that’s fine. Sometimes Cel joins them for games of hide and seek, or goes out to pick berries in the summer. But the beach, oh the beach. The smell of the salt air, the feeling of sand under their feet, those are the things Cel craves._

_Early morning is exploration time. Later, after breakfast and chores, Cel will probably end up back down here with their friends, swimming in the cool water, playing kraken and merfolk, (Cel is an excellent kraken) running down to the docks and watching the ships go in and out. It will be loud and noisy and fun, but right now it’s quiet, just Cel and the waves._

_Cel walks down the beach to their favorite cluster of rocks, the ones with the most interesting tide pools, keeping an eye out for stranded sea creatures. Occasionally starfish wash up on the sand, or they’ll find a horseshoe crab flipped upside down and gently tip it over right side up again. Mostly it’s just jellyfish though, already dead, sad little lumps on the sand that Cel picks up (with gloves on after the first time) and places gently back into the water. No doubt some people in town wouldn’t understand why Cel does this, and Cel doesn’t have the words to explain exactly why they do it either, except it’s about kindness, and kindness shouldn’t be denied even the smallest creature, living or not._

_Interesting shells and rocks end up in Cel’s many pockets before they reach the tide pools, more things to sort and add to their growing collection, the star of which is a sea urchin shell, beautiful and fragile. The tide pools themselves provide Cel with endless entertainment. The scuttling of crabs, the slow crawling of snails, even the occasional small eel. Cel doesn’t reach in to grab any of these creatures, instead just gently placing their hand in the water and keeping very still. They smile when a hermit crab crawls over their fingers, tiny claws tickling their skin._

_Cel climbs up onto a tall rock as the sun starts to properly rise. They’ll be running back up into town soon, where they’ll show their mama the shells they found and excitedly tell her about all the interesting creatures in the tide pools. For now though, they stare out over the ocean and daydream about all the far away places they’re going to travel to when they’re older._

———

Cel opens their eyes, sitting up on the infirmary bed with Azu sitting beside them. This time Cel’s here voluntarily, a condition of testing their telepathic bond with Alis that no one had actually had to insist too hard on to get Cel to agree to. While Cel is the first to admit that they have a higher standard of concern for other people’ssafety than they do their own, waking up barely able to speak and control of their motor functions had well and truly scared them. Things like losing half an ear were basically cosmetic. Actual brain damage was crossing a line Cel never wanted to cross again.

“How’d it go?” Azu asks.

“Pretty good, I think,” Cel says. “Alis? Did you get all that?”

“Oh Cel, that was a lovely memory, almost lovelier than the one with all the butterflies!!” Alis says through the speaker only recently installed in the infirmary. “The beach and the rocks and the little sea creatures! They were so _small!_ ”

Cel has to grin at Alis’s love of small things, considering that there are a great many things smaller than her, and she is fascinated by them all.

“And I could feel your memory of how the sand and the water felt, and what the air smelled like and _everything_!” Alis continues.

“Well, that sounds like a success to me,” Azu says with a smile. “No headaches, blurry vision, anything?”

“Nope! Not even a little!” Cel makes some notes and then puts the notebook down with a satisfied smile. They love sharing memories with Alis this way. Not the sad memories of course, not the awful ones, just these little pieces of joy. “I feel great! Alis, how about you?”

“Engine two is running a little slow, but I don’t think it has anything to do with you. Can you look?”

“Oh, hang on.” Cel slips their awareness into Alis’s consciousness slightly, sorting through the sounds and sensations of everyone and everything on the ship until they are focusing on the engine in question. Something isn’t moving smoothly, like a old injury that stiffens when the weather turns cold. “That would be piston twelve again. I think we’re just straight up going to have to replace it when we get to Svalbard, but for now can you tell whoever’s on shift to take a look at it?”

“That’s incredible,” Azu says as Alis’s affirmative hum echoes through the speaker before clicking off. “What’s it like, _being_ the ship?”

“It’s hard to describe,” Cel tells her. “I mean, there’s the sensation of being something big. Really really big. Then there’s the fact that the wood and metal on the ship is like… one big sensory organ that’s used for feeling _and_ hearing _and_ seeing, which was a little tricky to sort out the first time I experienced it.”

And by “a little tricky,” Cel means they got a bit overloaded and had to go have a lie down in a dark, quiet room afterwards. Thankfully, Alis hasn’t suffered anything similar when they’ve experienced Cel’s own senses, because Cel isn’t sure what the equivalent of being in a dark, quiet room is for an airship that can feel _everything_ that happens on it.

There’s a click as the speaker hums to life again. “Sassraa and Natan are looking at the engine now,” Alis says. “What were you talking about?”

“I was asking Cel what it was like to experience things the way you do,” Azu says. “What is it like for you, to experience the world the way Cel does?”

“Limited,” Alis says. “Oh, but not in a bad way!” She quickly amends. “It’s just so different! Only being able to see what’s directly in front of you seems like a design flaw, and their… skin? Yes, skin. It doesn’t read vibrations like my infrastructure does, can’t feel the nuances of air currents and know what they mean. And their body seems so fragile and soft. But they can _taste_ things! And their thoughts move so fast! Like lightning! I don’t look at Cel’s thoughts up close though, because thoughts are _private,_ just like when people are kissing, or taking off their clothes, or performing certain biological processes, or bathing—“

“Um, yes, Alis, thank you,” Azu says quickly, and gives Cel a look, eyebrows raised.

“I _maybe_ had to explain the concept of privacy to the ship,” Cel says.

“So does that mean before, she would…. watch?“ Azu’s eyebrows go up even further.

“Well she didn’t know any better,” Cel says. “And it wasn’t like she was particularly _interested_ in those things, they were just things that were happening on the ship. But now she knows that perceiving people during certain times would make them uncomfortable so she focuses her attention elsewhere when she needs to.”

“Privacy is important!” Alis pipes up.

“Indeed!” Azu says, and there’s something about the way she says it that makes Cel wonder if Azu and Kiko have perhaps gone past just kissing in the last week or two. Not like Cel would ask that right _now_ of course. That’s a crow’s nest sort of conversation, in private with only the wind and stars to hear.

“Anyway,” Azu says, sounding slightly flustered as she picks up the book they’ve been using as a medical log and starts making her own notes in her precise penmanship, contrasting Zolf’s half legible scrawl. “Planning any more experiments between the two of you?”

Cel shakes their head no. “The only thing left to test is if the mental link diminishes over distance, and we won’t know that until we actually _get_ to Svalbard.” That’s true enough, since neither Cel or Alis want to repeat the experience of Alis ‘taking over’ Cel’s body, not right now when the memory of the circumstances and the outcome are so fresh. Maybe not ever. Not even for science.

It _will_ be interesting to see if their telepathic bond with Alis will fade over distance. Maybe it will, because even magic can only do so much. But maybe it won’t, and Cel will always have someone else to talk to, someone to show the world to if they end up traveling alone again, like they had so long ago. That’s… comforting.

“I’d like to see if I can move parts of the ship without being angry,” Alis says quietly. “But I’ll wait until we’re on the ground for that. While you’re gone.”

Azu hums in affirmation and makes another note. “I have to admit, I was worried when you said you were going to experiment with the bond between you two, all things considered. But from the look of things, it’s been going very well.”

 _I’m careful now_ , Alis says quietly inside Cel’s mind, an undercurrent of guilt running through the words.

 _You are_ , Cel replies silently, giving Alis a mental hug full of reassurance. _We both are._

“Am I interrupting anything?” Hamid’s voice from the doorway interrupts Cel’s thoughts, and they turn towards him with a smile.

“Just finishing another mental experiment,” Cel says brightly. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to let you know that if my calculations are correct—“

“Which they will be,” Cel says confidently, Azu nodding in agreement.

Hamid grins. “Well, I certainly hope so. As I was saying, if my calculations are correct, we should be in Svalbard by this time tomorrow.”

“Oh thank Aphrodite,” Azu says in relief. She pats one of the walls of the room. “Not that you’re not wonderful, Alis. I just miss the ground.”

“It’s all right,” Alis says softly. “I mean, I don’t _understand_ , because flying is literally my purpose and I don’t like being on the ground, but it’s all right.”

“Also, and I know it’s a bit of short notice, but we’re having a party tonight to celebrate,” Hamid continues. “Cel? Would you have time to help me decorate?”

“Oh certainly!” Cel puts away the notebook on their lap and takes a different, smaller notebook out of their pocket. “I’ve been writing down some ideas I’ve had since are last party, with your help I think we can do something festive with the lighting!”

“I’ll get to wear a dress!” Azu says, grinning in delight. “For real this time! Assuming I can borrow your magic sleeves, Hamid?”

“Of course!”

“So who decided we were having a party, you or Wilde?” Cel asks, personally betting on Wilde.

“Neither,” Hamid says with a smile. “Earhart beat us to it.”

Cel looks up with a start. Azu manages to look both astonished and pleased.

“Oh really?” Azu says, and Hamid nods.

“It surprised me as well. Wilde was _actually_ rendered speechless for a moment, which, now that I think about it, might have been why she did it.” Hamid chuckles. “She even _smiled_.”

“Earhart smiles,” Cel insists, suddenly feeling defensive. Everyone turns to look at them and Cel ducks their head, flipping through their notebook even though they’ve already found the page they had been looking for. When no one says anything they continue on, words tumbling out to fill the silence. “Not like, all the time or anything, but when we’ve been working on the intercom system and it’s been going well, or sometimes when we’re taking a break and talking about places we’ve been or foods we miss or… or whatever.”

“Oh?” Azu says, and Cel can hear her smiling around the word.

“I think she’s a bit like Zolf or Carter, she’s much happier when she has a project,” Cel continues. “Though I suppose vengeance could be considered a project, but working on the ship is a little more immediate and tangible at the moment.”

“Maybe it’s less about the project and more about the company,” Hamid says, and Cel can actually _hear_ him grinning.

Cel’s been wondering that themself, is the thing, wondering it over all those late nights and early mornings working together, grease smudged hands holding cups of coffee and tea. Are they reading too much into the way Earhart smiles at them sometimes, not the wide, sharp grin when they get a fiddly bit of mechanical work done, but something softer? Or the fact that no matter how far apart they sit lately, they still somehow end up practically touching, sparks trailing down Cel’s arms to coruscate over Earhart’s tools? The only way to know would be to ask, but… they’ve only just become something like friends, what if Cel says something and it all goes back to cold and awkward silences? Cel doesn’t know if they could bear that.

“Maybe,” is what Cel says, shoving those thoughts aside for now and thrusting their project notebook towards Hamid. “Anyway, do you know how to cast Dancing Lights? I can mix up a really simple alchemical solution to suspend them in that will keep them glowing for hours! We’re going to need some jars though…”

Cel doesn’t realize until later that Alis has gone quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short (relatively anyway) chapter I know, but it made sense (at least to me) to break it here before the end.


	5. I Can't Think About The Future, But I Know Right Now I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cel is asked a question they can't answer, a perfectly good ship has anxiety, Earhart talks about her feelings, Wilde loses a bet, and everyone gets a good night's sleep.

_I don’t want you to go._

If Alis had been speaking through the above decks intercom and not inside Cel’s head, Cel probably wouldn’t have been able to make out her voice, so quiet over the sound of clinking glasses and conversations and the music the kobolds were making, which with practice had become more melodic but no less loud for all that. Still, her mental voice is so soft that for a moment Cel thinks maybe they’ve just imagined it, or that one of their anxious thoughts has become a little more vocal than usual.

 _Alis?_ It’s hard for Cel to not just speak out loud, they’ve been having conversations with themselves and inanimate objects and empty rooms since they learned how to talk. But there’s a undercurrent of sadness bubbling up from their mind or their heart, wherever feelings live, the spleen maybe, and Cel has quickly become adept at identifying when the emotions they’re having are not their own.

 _I don’t want you to go_ , Alis says again.

 _Oh Alis._ Cel gives Alis a mental hug, all warmth and reassurance. _We’re only going to be on the ground for a week, maybe a little longer, and I won’t even be away from you the whole time, Earhart and I are going to replace that bad piston, remember? I know I said ‘things happen’ before, but sometimes things_ ** _don’t_** _happen too. Like, in a nice way._

 _No_ , Alis says. _I mean, yes. I mean… I don’t mean I don’t want you to go to Svalbard. You’ll come back. You said you would. But that made me think about other things. What are you going to do after?_

Cel ignores the way the heart begins to race. It’s only the near future Alis is talking about, not the far future. It’s fine. This is fine. _Well, we did promise Earhart we’d help fight Guivres. And after that, well, I don’t know where we’re going. Wherever we have to, to go save the world._

_I mean_ **_after_ ** _you save the world. What do you want to do? Will you stay here? With me? With_ **_us_ ** _?_

It’s a question Cel’s asked other people before, on battlefields and dark nights, a question meant to get people talking about happier things, to take their minds off of everything going on around them. _“After all this is over, what do you want to do?”_ Whatever answer they give, Cel keeps them talking, and if they talk long enough, the other person forgets to turn the question back around on them, never learns that Cel doesn’t have an answer, that Cel can’t ask themself their own question without—.

Cel’s dimly aware that they’re fighting for breath, that their heart is beating too hard, too fast, their hands clutching the edge of the table so hard that they can hear their tendons creak.

 _Cel? Cel, what’s wrong? Is it me? Did I say something wrong?_ The deck of the ship shivers under Cel, the vibration going unnoticed by everyone else. _Oh no oh no oh no…_

 _I’ve given the ship anxiety_ , Cel thinks, and it’s almost funny except it’s terrible.

 _I’ll call someone on the intercom,_ Alis says, her panicked voice the whine of metal about to break. _Zolf or Azu or—_

 _No don’t!_ It’s a mental shout and they _feel_ Alis flinch and now Cel is _crying_ and they have to get up, have to leave, except if they get up someone might notice and if they don’t get up someone might notice and—

Footsteps. “Cel, can I talk to you for a—“ Earhart’s voice cuts off suddenly. “Cel, what’s wrong?”

Cel shakes their head, not looking at Earhart, just staring at the little lights dancing in the jar in front of them. If they open their mouth, they’re going to start sobbing and people will _hear._

 _“_ Okay,” Earhart says quietly, calmly. “Do you want me to get Mr. Smith?”

Another head shake, more forceful this time.

 _I’m sorry!_ The ship shudders again. _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—_

Cel needs Alis to stop apologizing, needs to stop feeling the panic that’s feeding into their own. They could block Alis out, that’s one of the things they learned how to do during their experiments, but it’d be like slamming a door in the face of someone who’s panicked and scared and Cel can’t do that, they _can’t._

“Okay, I felt that.” Earhart’s voice, still quiet, becomes firm. A Captain’s voice. “Alis, I know Cel’s upset, and that’s probably making you upset… or maybe the other way round, but I need you to try and calm down for me. We can fix this, whatever this is.”

Cel feels Alis respond to Earhart’s voice and is distantly surprised to feel it working on them as well. Everything is still too loud, too much, they’re still crying, but they’re not breathing as fast, their hands aren’t clutching the table as tightly as they had been.

 _I’m sorry_ , Alis says softly, oh so softly.

 _It’s all right_ , Cel manages through their still racing thoughts. _Sorry for shouting…_

“I hope that worked. Cel. No one’s looking over here. Do you need to leave?”

Tiny nod. Yes.

“I want to come with you. Is that all right?”

Less tiny nod. Earhart has seen them already, her going away won’t change that. And her voice is helping.

“All right. Can you stand up?”

Cel slowly stands, trembling, eyes fixed on the deck.

“Good. That’s good,” Earhart says, still quiet, not drawing any attention to what’s going on. “Now, let’s walk towards the stairs.”

Cel watches their own feet moving, Earhart’s feet moving alongside, as they walk across the deck and down the stairs, pausing at the bottom.

“My room is closer, do you—“

“Yes.” Cel’s voice is a whisper. Their heart is no longer pounding, their breathing slowing down with it to something approaching normal. Their tears now are less from panic and more from embarrassment, and Cel would wipe them away but it’s all they can do to keep walking. “Sorry.”

A speaker in the hallway clicks on. “Sorry,” Alis echoes.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Earhart says in her gentle, firm way. “To my office then.”

Cel makes it to Earhart’s office proper and manages to sit down on the bed before a round of violent trembling overtakes them, as if triggered by the sound of the closing door. A closed door usually means they’re alone, that it’s safe to fall apart, but they’re not alone, not in their head or outside it. They hunch in on themselves, every muscle tense and shaking.

Fabric rustles and then there’s a blanket wrapped around Cel’s shoulders, small hands holding theirs, Earhart’s forehead resting against their own.

“You’re all right,” Earhart says in Gnomish, the words lyrical and soft, familiar despite her accent. “It’s all right, you’re all right, shhhhh.”

Alis doesn’t say anything, but underneath the ship’s worry and guilt there is a feeling of warmth and reassurance and love that wraps itself around Cel’s mind and is as comforting as the blanket around their shoulders. They feel themself slowly begin to relax, muscles unclenching, leaving them tired and sore, as wrung out as a dishrag.

“Sorry,” Cel says again, the word leaving them in a shuddering sigh.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Earhart says quietly. “These things happen. To me, mostly.” She squeezes Cel’s hands gently. “Would you like some water?”

“Please?”

“Of course.” Earhart goes to pull away and Cel tightens their grip on Earhart’s hands slightly with the realization that Earhart will have to stop touching them to go get water.

Earhart doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, just waits, thumbs running over the backs of Cel’s hands until, slowly, Cel loosens their grip. Even then she doesn’t move right away. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

Cel waits until Earhart’s back is turned to wipe away their tears, as if she hadn’t already seen Cel crying. They watch as Earhart walks over to the pitcher of water on their desk, hand automatically reaching for the first desk drawer, the one that had used to hold a bottle of whiskey, before remembering herself and reaching for the second, where she kept her glassware.

“I’m sorry it’s not tea,” Earhart says as she hands Cel the glass of water. “I could… try and make some?”

Cel shakes their head. “It’s fine. Thank you.” Truth be told, they would welcome a warm teacup to wrap their hands around, but the glass is good too, cold, the water inside tasting fresh in a way that only divinely conjured water does, Zolf’s magic at work. They sip it slowly as Earhart brings over a chair and sits across from them, close but not too close, waiting for the question that Earhart is bound to ask.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Cel blinks. A choice. They hadn’t been expecting a choice. They had expected Earhart to ask what happened, and then Cel would have told them. But now there’s a choice. They could say no. They could… leave the room? Except Cel doesn’t want to leave the room. Cel doesn’t want to say no, even if they don’t know what to say, or if Earhart will think that their fear is foolish or strange or childish.

“I don’t know where to start,” Cel admits quietly.

The intercom speaker clicks on. “It’s my fault,” Alis says, her voice a mournful creak, like a ship’s mast during a storm. “I asked you the question that made you upset.”

Cel shakes their head. “It was a perfectly reasonable question,” they insist. “Anyone else could have answered it, or even _not_ answered it without… without panicking. You couldn’t have known that would happen.”

“Can I ask what the question was?” Earhart asks, and that’s a perfectly reasonable question too. Cel should be able to answer her.

 _Do you want me to say it?_ Alis asks Cel in their thoughts.

 _I can do it. I think._ Cel can answer Earhart’s question. She’s just asking for the _question_ , not the answer to it. So it’s fine. It’ll be fine. Cel looks up at Earhart’s carefully impassive expression before looking down at the glass in their hands instead.

“Alis asked me what…” Cel takes a deep breath. “What I wanted to do after saving the world.” Another breath. Another. “It’s… it’s too big of a question. For me. Too far away… in time? I can’t… I can’t make _plans_ for the future. I used to, when I was younger, I remember that, but there’s too many variables, too many things that can go _wrong_ or get taken _away_ like your home or your village or your family or your friends or the family that _is_ your friends, things _happen_ or you make _mistakes_ and all those plans are gone, those places are gone those people are gone, so you come up with short-term goals and projects instead, things to build or make and those projects lead you to new places and people and more projects and you keep doing projects and don’t think about what you’ll do when you can’t create things anymore, and you ask people what they’d like to do in the future and make sure they never ask _you_ because you can’t think about it, it’s too _big_ , it’s too _heavy_ , so heavy that you can’t—“

Cel’s breath hitches, the glass they’d been holding falling from their trembling hands only to be caught by Earhart, who quickly sets it aside and takes Cel’s hands again, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles that ground and steady them. Where had she learned that? From Zolf? From Azu?

“I didn’t know,” Alis says. “Oh Cel, I didn’t know.”

“I’ve only shared the happy things with you,” Cel says. “There are so many happy memories.”

“It helps though. Talking about the sad things. Like how I shared my memories with you, or how our Captain talks about what happened after the crash with me. Azu says it’s because sorrow weighs less when there’s other people to help you carry it.”

“It’s… easier for me to encourage other people to talk about their feelings than to do it myself,” Cel says.

“Zolf said something similar to me,” Earhart says. “He said it was like a skill he had to make an effort at learning. You should talk to him about it.”

“I learn fast,” Cel says with a wavering smile.

“You do,” Earhart says, smiling back, that soft smile that Azu and Hamid hadn’t known existed. Maybe it’s a smile just for Cel. “Cel, I—“ She trails off, her smile fading slightly. “Maybe this should wait until morning. After you get some sleep.”

Cel feels themself starting to tense back up again, the uncompleted sentence worrying at them. “No, please? I’ll be up half the night wondering what you were going to say if you don’t.” Which is true enough, even if they’re really not sure how long they’ll stay awake once they actually lay down and let themself rest. They’re always exhausted after these sorts of emotional attacks and tonight is no exception.

“Captain, we _just_ had a whole conversation about how talking about things is good,” Alis says.

Earhart gives the speaker a fond and exasperated look. “That we did. And a good captain should lead by example, I suppose. Right. Hmmm. How to…?” Her mouth twists slightly, a smile and a frown somehow co-existing on her face. “I’ve never been terribly good with words at the best of times, and what I had _planned_ to say to you tonight, before all this, seems terribly inadequate now.”

“Sorry?” It’s a question and apology both, but Earhart just shakes her head and squeezes Cel’s hands gently.

“Don’t. It’s not your fault regardless. Just, forgive me if I make a botch of this.”

Cel nods, unable to help the twist of anxiety in their gut.

 _It’s okay_ , Alis says, her mental voice an engine’s soothing purr.

_Do you know what this is about?_

Alis mentally shakes her head. _No, but I trust her. I think she just doesn’t want to hurt you by getting the words wrong._

“I can… sympathize? Empathize? It’s one of those. I can _understand_ how you have a hard time thinking about the future,” Earhart finally says. “It’s so simple when you’re young, isn’t it? I’ve wanted to fly ever since I saw my first airship. I knew then and there that I’d never be happy unless I was in the sky, going from place to place, an endless sea of clouds and stars around me, the wind at my back. Carrying cargo, carrying people, it was just an excuse to be up there, where I belonged. And then everything changed. After the crash, it was only the past I could think about. The fire. The screams. I grieved for my broken dreams and my broken ship, all those lives I had been responsible for, all gone. I couldn’t even look at the sky without shaking. I couldn’t imagine a future because all I could see was the past.”

Earhart’s voice is so soft and mournful that Cel nearly wants to tell her to stop, that it’s okay, but there’s a certain set to her jaw, something stubborn and defiant. Cel knows the argument would not get very far, that what Earhart is saying is something she _needs_ to say, so instead they sit and listen, focused on every word.

“And then, well, I was needed, wasn’t I? Zolf and Azu worked on putting me back together, just like you and the kobolds worked on my ship. I’m grateful to all of you now, but then? I was full of anger and resentment, anger at myself for needing help, resentment that you were doing something that I, at the time could not. My plans for vengeance gave me only the coldest of comfort, and I couldn’t see any future past them. I think…” Earhart shakes her head. “No. I _know_ I was okay with that. As long as I got what I wanted, what happened after didn’t matter. And I won’t lie, I’m still struggling to see past all that. But sometimes, instead of nothing, I see, well, this.” She lets go of one of Cel’s hands to gesture broadly. “The sky. Me. Alis. You.”

Cel blinks. “Me?”

Earhart nods. “You. I couldn’t tell you exactly when it happened, but when I _can_ imagine a future, I can’t imagine it without you in it somewhere, working on a project or telling a story or just… just sitting here in my office drinking tea. Which is why I was going to ask you tonight if you wanted to come back here and work for me once this whole…” Earhart waves their hand again. “Once this whole saving the world thing is over with. If you could work for a captain who was unprofessional enough to fall in love with a member of their crew, one who had treated you unfairly and unjustly in the past. But I understand if you can’t give me an answer right now, if that’s possibly too far in the future for you to commit to or think about. I just want you to know that you have a place on my ship whenever you want it, as passenger or crew or whatever you wish.”

“I—“ Cel is starting to think that maybe they’ve given in to exhaustion, that this is all a dream they’re having. They hadn’t been wrong then? “You’re in love with me?”

“You’re under no obligation to reciprocate my feelings,” Earhart says in that formal, stiff, straight-forward way Cel’s learned she does when she’s worried or upset or anxious. “I just wanted you to know up front how I feel about you, and to make sure that you know that how you feel for me has no bearing on my offer. There will always be room for you here.”

 _Always_ , Alis echoes.

Cel feels themself trembling with the force of the emotions inside their heart, tears sliding down their face again as they try to smile, try to get words out past all their feelings as a look of panic flashes across Earhart’s face.

“I should have waited,” Cel hears Earhart mutter in Gnomish, perhaps forgetting that Cel can understand them. “They’re exhausted and vulnerable and you _upset_ them—“ She starts to let go of Cel’s hand, maybe to get Cel some water or to go get Zolf or just give Cel some space, but the reason doesn’t matter. What matters is the feeling that if Earhart lets go of them now, she won’t come back.

Cel tangles their fingers with Earhart’s, gently tugging her toward them, then pulling her into a hug. There’s a moment where Earhart’s body is stiff with surprise before they relax, her small arms reaching around Cel as far as she can.

“Reciprocating your feelings is very much _not_ an obligation,” Cel manages to say through tears, through laughter. They feel Earhart’s chest heave in a sigh of relief and then she’s chuckling as underneath them the ship shivers in unrestrained delight. “I don’t know about the future, but that’s what I know right now.”

“The rest can wait,” Earhart says, curling up into the warmth of Cel’s arms.

The intercom clicks on. “Captain?” Zolf’s voice comes through the intercom, the one word laced with concern. “Don’t know if you’re down there, but you’re not up here, and the ship’s behaving a bit oddly, and Cel ain’t up here either….”

Earhart groans, shifting her weight as if to get up. “Figures.”

Zolf’s voice cuts off suddenly, replaced by Alis’s. “I’ve got this,” she says gleefully. A moment later, Cel hears Alis’s voice over the intercom at the helm, or at least the vibration of it through the deck, not the words. A moment after that, there’s cheering.

“You didn’t want to keep this a secret, did you?” Cel asks. “Because I think I glossed over ‘keeping secrets’ during my talk to Alis about privacy.”

“Should I not have told them?”Alis asks, sounding distressed. “Everyone seemed really happy when I told them you two were hugging and didn’t want to be disturbed. Especially Hamid, since I guess Oscar owes him money now for some reason?”

“Serves him right,” Earhart says with a chuckle, settling back into Cel’s arms. “They would have figured it out eventually, Alis, it’s fine.”

Cel smiles and closes their eyes, leaning until their back is against the wall, feeling utterly surrounded by people who love them.

———

_It’s a fine, clear day for sailing, only a few clouds in the sky, round and fat like sheep needing to be sheared, multi-colored lights flickering in their depths. Cel stands up on deck and watches as the energy in the clouds is pulled out in thin streams, crackling down the strangely colored metal rods affixed to the deck to be stored in batteries down below. The rods are both a defense against wild magic and a way to harness it, just as the energy itself can be used to power the ship or as a defense against the strange creatures that fly over the Wastes. Given enough time, enough materials, enough magic, maybe the Wastes will no longer be called such. That’s what Cel hopes, anyway. Fixing the world is an awfully big project, one they’re more than happy to have a part in._

_At the helm, Earhart is at the wheel, occasionally turning to say something to Alis, whose mental projection is standing next to her, wearing a white dress that contrasts her brown, fine-grained wooden complexion. There’s no spikes sticking out through the fabric, just as no spikes protrude from the wood of the ship itself. Cel smiles to see the two of them standing there talking to each other, even if they can’t remember exactly_ **_when_ ** _Earhart developed the ability to see Alis’s mental projection…_

Cel opens their eyes and winces as their body protests the fact that they’ve fallen asleep sitting up. Shifting slightly causes the gnome in their arms to grumble, curling up tighter against Cel, one hand clutching at their shirt. A look towards the porthole reveals a dark sky not yet shading towards dawn.

 _So was that your dream or mine?_ Cel asks Alis silently.

 _Both of ours, I think. Maybe they got tangled together. It was nice,_ Alis says wistfully. _She could see me too._

Cel moves their arm to work out a cramp and Earhart shifts against them, grumbling until Cel starts running their fingers through her hair. _Maybe there’s a way to make that happen_ , Cel thinks, mind already going over how they could modify the cage, making a mental note to ask Hamid exactly _where_ on the map they had been when they had passed through the first borealis, thinking about the metal structures they had seen in their dreams, like lightning rods except for wild magic. Was that even possible? Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe not _yet._ Maybe in the future, if— if— (if everything goes right, if we don’t get eaten by a dragon, if we don’t crash, if…)

Cel takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and reaches for the notepad they always keep in their shirt pocket. Projects. Think about projects, about Earhart asleep in their arms, about a ship that loves the both of them. Someday they’ll be able to look toward the future without panicking, but today is not that day.

Cel manages to make notes for ten whole minutes before Earhart raises an arm and gropes blindly for Cel’s notepad, tugging at it gently.

“Sleep.”

“Is that an order?”

“Mmmm. Yes.” Earhart raises her head, blinking sleepily, not even half awake.

“Your bed’s too small,” Cel says, still making notes even as Earhart maintains her grip on the notepad. “Give me five minutes and I could make a hammock. Not sure why you don’t have one of those instead of the bed anyway, now that I think about it.”

“Can’t make a feather mattress into a hammock,” Earhart mutters, yawning.

“Maybe not, but you _can_ make one out of a down comforter and some blankets,” Cel counters, putting away their notepad and echoing Earhart’s yawn.

“Clever,” Earhart says, reluctantly letting go of Cel. “Show me?”

It ends up taking more like ten minutes before Cel and Earhart are curled up together once more, this time in a comfortable hanging nest of a hammock. Cel stretches out with a happy sigh as Earhart all but burrows into them, giving a happy hum as Cel presses a kiss to the top of her head, reciprocating with a kiss to their clavicle.

“Sleep,” Earhart commands again, and Cel chuckles and closes their eyes.

 _Night, Alis,_ Cel thinks as they begin to drop off.

 _Sleep well_ , Alis says quietly, and for a moment before they fall asleep Cel swears they feel a strong pair of arms holding both them and Earhart close.

The future is something that Cel has a hard time thinking about, but they can’t help but hope that it contains many nights like this, curled up soft and warm and safe with the people they love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes family is an alchemist, the airship they share a telepathic bond with, and the airship captain that loves them both.
> 
> This represents over a month of writing, and I hope y'all enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. It was a hell of a ride. If this was a movie, there would be hours of bonus features and deleted scenes. (There's a whole time-skip epilogue in my head for instance). Thank you very much for reading. <3

**Author's Note:**

> I’m [angel-ascending](http://angel-ascending.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr and [angel_in_ink](http://twitter.com/angel_in_ink) over on Twitter if y’all want to stop by and say hi!


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